Heat
by hypergolic
Summary: The discovery of a young woman's body in Bicentennial Park sparks a case investigation which becomes increasingly personal for Horatio. A sequel to 'Chasing Phoenix' and part two of the 'Saving Grace' trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** _Heat_

**Pairing:** _Horatio/OFC_

**Rating:**_ T (just in case)_

**Spoilers:** _None...unless you haven't watched season 4 yet._

**Summary:**_ The discovery of a young woman's body in Bicentennial Park sparks a case investigation which becomes increasingly personal for Horatio. A sequel to 'Chasing Phoenix' and part two of the 'Saving Grace' trilogy._

**Standard pre-fanfic spiel:** _CSI: Miami and all related characters remain the property of CBS, I am making no money from this fanfic etc…_

**A/N:** _I've been far too remiss in posting this - it was virtually finished about a year ago, but somehow I got distracted and it got shelved. Then, a couple of weeks ago I decided to dust it off, get my ass into gear and finish it. Like it says in the summary this is a sequel to my previous fic called 'Chasing Phoenix' it's not necessary to go back and read that story (I've tried to make Heat pretty self-explanatory), but it might help to explain who one of the central characters is. This is a mix of action, investigation and pure, unadulterated fluff!! Hope you enjoy!_

**Heat.**

**Chapter 1 – At Death's Door.**

The gentle swish of the hospital's automatic doors heralded Calleigh's entrance. She walked quickly forward, her high-heels clicking loudly on the light-coloured tiled floor, echoing off the bare walls of the sparse clinical environment. As she progressed, the sounds that washed over her changed, not as though Calleigh noticed too much however; her mind was far too preoccupied. Gradually the gentle hum of conversation died away behind her and was replaced by the steady, quiet pulse of beeping monitors as she walked past the general wards of the Jackson Memorial and on towards the intensive care unit of the Ryder Trauma Centre. Her frequent official visits to victims in the various wards of Miami's many hospitals had given her a pretty complete mental map of the Jackson Memorial Hospital, and staff were so used to seeing Calleigh or one of her CSI colleagues stalking down the corridors on a mission to interview a victim, or in the less fortunate of cases to collect the cadaver and personal effects of those who hadn't made it, that no-one raised an eyebrow or questioned her authority to be there. Today however, her visit was somewhat out of the ordinary and her mental map had apparently deserted her, the corridors that she could usually navigate in her sleep seemed foreign and unfamiliar, she had to stop briefly a few times and take a couple of seconds to work out where she was before once again heading off in the general direction of her intended destination.

Today there was a more personal reason for her presence and perhaps this explained why her photographic memory of the hospital's layout had temporarily deserted her; her own private feelings whizzing around at break-neck speed, creating a hurricane in her mind, pushing all other thoughts from her neural pathways. This visit, unlike the hundreds that had preceded it, was being made off-duty.

Eventually, despite her brief lack of orientation, Calleigh arrived at the double doors that signalled the entrance to the ICU, which she pushed open and navigated her way around the host of medical equipment that stood, staggered in her path, apparently dumped anywhere after the panic of a code blue. Suddenly and inexplicably she found herself thinking that medical professionals really should be a little more organised with their equipment, even before the thought had finished forming in her head she was chastising herself for her ridiculous thought. Calleigh rounded one last corner, making a conscious effort to plaster a reassuring smile to her face just in case there was anyone else in the vicinity. It was one trait that she'd taken from her mother, to put on a happy face even when times were tough, when you couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel; no matter how bad things got, you never let anyone see your weaknesses, your doubts. So she smiled. The smile and the automatic response of 'I'm fine' were Calleigh's armour, her protection from letting anyone get too close to her.

Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, for she had just seen that the bed she was heading towards, that should hold the patient that she was most anxious to see; was empty. '_Empty?'_ A wave of panic washed over her causing her to shiver and making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Calleigh could feel the adrenaline start to surge into her bloodstream. Her heart, responding to this sudden anxiety, started to beat quicker, circulating the recently produced stimulant through her body faster. _Surely someone would have paged her if something had happened. She'd phoned at least four times during the day to check on progress. Had something gone wrong? _Her head spinning a little she called out to a nurse who was engrossed in checking the IV line of another patient across the other side of the room.

"Um, excuse me ma'am?" The smooth Southern drawl even managed to mask the nervous shake in her voice.

The nurse turned around with a start, not really expecting to meet anyone conscious other than staff in the ICU. As she turned, Calleigh recognised her as Vanessa Owens, a constantly cheerful nurse who had befriended a patient from one of Calleigh's past cases. Vanessa had persuaded a nervous young college girl to testify in her rape case; a nervous young college girl whose testimony had helped put the serial rapist behind bars for a very long time, and Calleigh remained eternally grateful for the nurse's cooperation.

"Calleigh, Hey!" There was a slight pause as Vanessa took in Calleigh's ashen appearance. "Honey, you look white as a sheet, you OK?"

For once words failed Calleigh, and she could only motion impotently towards the empty bed, and was quite surprised when Vanessa gave a little laugh and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Oh sweetie, I'm sorry, I guess no-one let you know…" Her hanging words made Calleigh fear the worst possible scenario and she felt something grip around her heart, squeezing as if trying to stop it pumping the much needed blood around her body.

"Your friend's been classified as stable, and the surgeons are pleased with how the wounds look post-op so he's been moved up to a private room to recover in peace, Just a second, I'll check the charts in the nurses' station and I'll let you know which room he's in."

_Immeasurable relief_. The warmth flowed back through her body instantly and the tight feeling around her heart immediately dissipated. Calleigh's bright smile returned to her face; a genuine smile this time, not a forced necessity. _Stable; thank God. That was the best news she'd had all day._ She was brought out of her uplifted thoughts by Vanessa's return.

"Ok, if you can wait just a minute while I finish with this," she motioned towards her patient, "I'll take you up."

"Oh thanks Vanessa, but I don't want to interrupt your schedule. Just tell me which room it is and I'll find my way, no problem." The lessening of the worry and panic that had haunted Calleigh all day made her aware that her mental map of the hospital had returned with full force.

The nurse chuckled. "I daresay you will. Seriously Calleigh, you know your way around this place better than some of the doctors. He's in room 317, I'll pop in and check up on you in a while."

"Thanks a lot 'Ness, catch you later." Calleigh threw a wave over her shoulder as she walked out of the ICU, back towards the general wards, a broad smile playing on her lips. Her brain was already busy at work; mentally planning the quickest route to room 317.

Minutes later she was slipping silently into the side room, where regular, heavy breathing told her he was still asleep, she stepped carefully, keeping her weight on the balls of her feet, afraid that the clicking of her shoes would echo around the clinical minimalism of the hospital room and disturb the patient. Calleigh lowered herself quietly into the chair beside the bed from where she could survey her friend's sleeping form, and gently flicked a strand of red-gold hair out of Horatio's face and smiled as he twitched his nose. It struck Calleigh as such a strange sight; the normally huge stature of this gentle giant that she saw using an endless supply of strength and compassion to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders on a daily basis suddenly looked so small as he lay unconscious in the hospital bed. But she knew without any trace of doubt that he would grow again to be that giant of a man. After all, it would take more than a bullet to stop Horatio Caine.

A small tap on her thigh made her look down, and she was surprised to see a water droplet soaking into the light material of her trousers. Calleigh lifted her left hand to her cheek and realised that it too was wet. The tears had come to her eyes subconsciously, the emotions that she had struggled to keep locked away all day finally finding a chink in her armour through which they could escape. Calleigh once again thought about how she had been taught at a young age that to wear your heart out on your sleeve for everyone to see was a dangerous thing, a sign of weakness that in law enforcement could earn you a long stay in a hospital bed, or worse, a short stay in the city morgue. When she had first started to work under the tutelage of Horatio, however, she had begun to wonder whether this fear of emotions was justified. After all Horatio was totally unafraid to let his passion show, and until now he hadn't suffered for it. _Until now_. Suddenly the fear, that over the years had been eroded away; diminished by the confidence Horatio had given her, had returned with a vengeance. Suddenly Calleigh was a ten year old girl again sprinting away across the fields of Louisiana, running from the threat of an abusive, alcoholic father and a mother too drugged up to care.

Horatio had become so much more than just her boss over the years she had known him. He had handpicked her, travelled all the way to New Orleans to meet this young spitfire of a ballistics expert and after only half an hour in her company had professed to knowing that she was the expert he wanted to join his team of forensics experts. He had become her mentor and when her own daddy couldn't find his way out of the solace he had sought at the bottom of a bottle Horatio had looked out for her, protected her and become a surrogate father, one who she would never hesitate to turn to for help if she needed it. He was the only person that she felt comfortable confiding her thoughts and fears to, with Horatio there was never any need to put on a brave face and to hide behind a false smile, he'd always see through it anyway. When he told her that no matter what the time of day or night he would always be there for her to talk to, she believed him, had even taken him at his word and showed up on his doorstep at three in the morning before and true to his declaration he'd taken her in and listened, been a shoulder to cry on, been her rock.

Now, seeing this seemingly invincible colossus so near to the brink of death was like a knife in her heart. Calleigh, who had seen more death and suffering than a great many people, knew better than to think of anyone as immortal, but with Horatio, you just couldn't help it. The man simply radiated invincibility. She couldn't evade the feeling of helplessness knowing that there was nothing else she could do but sit at his side all the hours she was able and stroke his hand, whispering a constant dialogue. Relaying the evidence they had collected from the latest cases and the general office gossip, telling him how much everyone missed his constant presence at the lab.

Placing her hand in his Calleigh leaned forward and laid her head on the bed beside the figure of her sleeping colleague, allowing herself just a few minutes of exhausted sleep.

Just centimetres away Horatio's eyelids began to flicker sporadically as his eyeballs twitched underneath the thin layer of skin. Any doctor would have been able to identify R.E.M. or rapid eye movement, which showed that Horatio's mind was working intensely, passing image after image through the perceptive centres of memory, reliving events that he wouldn't allow himself to succumb to whilst awake.

In a room a few wards away from where the two CSIs were drifting in uncomfortable slumber a nurse checked a patient's stats, recording them on a clipboard that hung on the rails at the foot of the bed. A sparkling, white-gold engagement band sat delicately on the finger of the unconscious patient who was hooked up to a wide array of medical equipment, which was ready to notify surrounding personnel if the patient's condition changed. The figure was undoubtedly female, honey-blonde hair splayed out over the crisp white material of the pillow that supported her head, her face pulled into a worried frown in her unconscious state. This was the woman whose image was currently haunting Horatio's dreams, whose smile lit up his life and whose more recent pained expression had torn at his heart. The name printed on the top of the chart; Grace Turner.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Please be aware that there's a bit of graphic description in here that you might find a bit…unsavoury. It's nothing that you shouldn't come up against in the show, but those with a nervous disposition should tread carefully._

**Chapter 2 – Taking The Call.**

_Five Days Earlier…_

"…Okay sweetheart, I'll see you later on…" he paused, listening to her again, "I love you too." Horatio chuckled as he closed the cell phone and dropped it back into his pocket. It was this spontaneity that he so loved about Grace, he'd seen her only ten minutes ago as he left the apartment, heading out to work, but she'd phoned him because she had to tell him that she loved him, and it couldn't wait until he got home that evening. It was these little things that put a permanent smile on Horatio's face these days, the quick phone calls, the little notes that he found attached to the refrigerator letting him know that she had to work late, the fact that every now and again she'd call in at CSI and drop off a small package for him at reception which might turn out to be a sweet pastry or a flower she'd seen while she was walking through the park or a photograph that she had taken that she liked, it was always a surprise. He tried to do the same for her whenever he got the chance, unfortunately, the criminals of Miami kept him pretty busy on a day to day basis, and it was a rare opportunity that he got the chance to head out and leave a small token at her place of work. It was hard to believe that not so long ago he'd had nothing like this in his life and to be honest he wondered how he'd ever managed to exist with such a lack of human interaction. It seemed as if he'd spent his life up until he met her shrouded in silence, and with her appearance she'd lifted the barriers from his ears and introduced him to the vibrant, bustling reality that life could be. The pair had been engaged for almost a year now and Horatio had to admit that the past twelve months had been the sweetest he had ever experienced.

Horatio's phone chirped into life once again and he reached inside his jacket and deftly snapped open the cover without taking his eyes off the road. A cursory glance was all it took the seasoned CSI to identify that the text message was from the police dispatch desk, extract a location from the message and to know roughly what to expect when he got there. His lips pursed together in a grim determination, he checked his mirrors and pulled sharply into the fast lane, a manoeuvre which was greeted by the sound of horns from the motorists travelling behind, but these complaints were soon silenced when Horatio flicked a small switch on the dashboard that brought the flashing lights mounted atop the department's monogrammed vehicle instantly to life. A second switch initiated the deafening whine of the emergency siren. And as the traffic parted ahead of him, Horatio pushed the foot on the accelerator pedal down to meet the floor and wound his way easily, despite the bulk of the Hummer, through the rush-hour traffic.

Pulling off the I395 it took only a few seconds until he was pulling out of NE 9th Street, taking a left onto Biscayne Boulevard. Immediately to his right Horatio could see the police cordon, which told him that his crime scene was not far away. He forced the hummer to mount the kerb and cross the grass, bringing the vehicle to a stop next to a couple of marked police cruisers and another Crime Lab Hummer.

As he slid out of the driver's seat a figure disengaged himself from the conversation he had been having with a uniformed officer and headed over to greet the Lieutenant. Eric Delko cut a lean and muscular figure as he ducked under the yellow tape and strode over to Horatio a camera clasped in one hand and a plastic evidence bag in the other.

"Hey, H."

Horatio inclined his head in a greeting,

"Eric. What have we got?"

This phrase, which in CSI circles tended to serve as a greeting as well as an opening question, was Horatio's standard introduction. He didn't wait for an answer but walked towards the scene and Delko easily fell into step beside him. Horatio's team had quickly gotten used to delivering their progress reports on the move, either as they drove to a scene, in the elevator, or like today; walking into the unknown possibilities that a new crime scene presented. As Horatio said; '_time was a valuable commodity to a CSI, not to be wasted standing still'. _The red-headed CSI ducked low under the crime scene tape and paused on the other side to hold up the plastic barrier for Delko to pass through. A few more steps took them to the victim's side. Horatio removed his sunglasses and surveyed the scene with a practiced eye. A young woman with light-brown skin, wearing only a pair of red and black hotpants and a matching bikini top, lay before them in the shade of a tree, her lifeless body resting against the trunk, her thick black hair splayed out over her shoulders. Horatio considered for a second that many years ago, when he first arrived in Miami he would have considered this type of clothing a little odd, and far too skimpy unless it was on the beach, but he had quickly got used to the styles of the Miami fashion scene, where less was most definitely more. The thought occurred to Horatio that she looked like she could be sleeping, except for the violent wounds on her neck and temple that had oozed with blood as the victim bled out and formed a puddle around where she sat.

"Female d.b. mid-twenties, apparent gun-shot wounds to the neck and head."

"Well, whoever they were, our killer certainly meant business. They didn't want to leave a survivor behind did they? Who found her?" Horatio tilted his head slightly to get a better look at the fierce wounds left by the bullets.

"Guy called Marcus Baleros, works for the city's museums board, he was out for an early morning run through the park when he found her. Paused to catch his breath and heard a tinny kind of sound, like a cellphone, he took a look around and found this." Eric lifted up the evidence bag that he had been carrying around with him. Through it's transparent plastic shield Horatio could clearly see the gadget, a fluorescent pink iPod. "And then he found her." Eric pointed briefly towards the body of the young woman hunched at the base of the tree. "Guy phoned 911 straightaway, he's with Frank down at PD giving a statement. Apparently he comes here every morning before he goes into work. You know they're planning to make this park into a big cultural section of the city, a kind of base for museums and galleries? Apparently Marcus is one of the designers working on the plans."

"Hmm, so he's creative, wonder if he could've been planning anything else…murder perhaps?"

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a van door being slammed. Horatio and Eric both turned, and saw the City Coroner, Alexx Woods, stalking towards them, her face pulled into a deep frown.

"You OK Alexx?" Delko asked cautiously, seeing lines of anger etched deep in the coroner's normally tranquil face.

"Hey Eric, Horatio. Yeah, I'm fine." Her expression calmed for a second as she saw her two colleagues, but the frown reappeared as she continued. "Goddam drivers in this city need to retake drivers ed. is all. That van," she wafted her arms in the direction of the vehicle to illustrate her point, "has 'Coroner' written on the front, back, and both sides, and yet _still_ some jackass cuts me up. You think people'd have more damn respect for the dead." She snorted slightly, but her anger disappeared instantly as soon as she saw the victim. "Oh, you are far too young to need my services honey." Alexx whispered as she knelt by the girl's side and carefully tucked a strand of hair behind the victim's ear.

Alexx's manner of talking to her charges had initially unnerved some of the crime lab staff when she had first taken up her post, but Horatio had silenced her critics saying that as long as none of them talked back he didn't mind, and if it was good enough for the boss…

"You photographed the body already?" She looked towards Horatio, who in turn looked at Delko.

"Yep. Already done." Eric held up the camera in his hand as he spoke.

Alexx knew that even before she made a brief non-invasive check of the body the position that the corpse had been found in needed to be recorded for the investigation. If she moved the body even an inch before the primary photographic record was completed then a defence lawyer would have a field day with her testimony.

Happy with his response, she turned back to the body, performing a very quick initial examination.

"Hmm, we've got two entry wounds, on the neck and temple." She tipped the victim's head to one side and felt around the victim's neck with a gloved hand. "Yep, and we've got an exit wound on this side. The neck wound's a through and through, it's at an angle, looks like the bullet snagged her carotid artery and made it out the other side of her neck without meeting too much obstruction. There's no exit tract for the head wound, so I guess I'll be extracting the bullet at the post."

Alexx opened the silver kit that she had placed by her side and extracted a medical thermal probe. She carefully placed the fingers of her left hand on the victim's side and found the right spot and pushed the digital thermometer through the skin and deep into the liver. Delko winced slightly and tuned his head away pretending to be assessing the crime scene. He had a slight problem with needles, and his inability to watch as she took the liver temperature always amused Alexx, although she had never told Eric as much. She found it entertaining that he could stand by her side during the most gory of autopsies, remove limbs and weigh organs, but the mere sight of a needle sent a shiver down his spine. A beep told her that the temperature reading had stabilised, she removed the thermometer and quickly completed a little mental calculation.

"She's been dead about eight hours."

Horatio glanced at his wristwatch. "OK so that puts our time of death at about 1am this morning." He stood with his hands resting on his hips, looking out into the distance. "There was a game last night, Heat against the Knicks…" Horatio turned back, looking towards the young girl's body and then up at Eric. "…She's in the right colours..."

"You think she was working at the Arena?"

Eric had followed the previous line of Horatio's gaze and in the distance could make out the distinctive architecture of the American Airlines Arena, or the 'Triple A' as local sports commentators referred to it, the home of the Miami Heat basketball team.

"Could be. The girls who sell the programmes and team merchandise are usually dressed like this with the hotpants and bikini tops in the team's colours." Eric nodded as he spoke, recognising the similarities as soon as Horatio had voiced his suspicion.

"So I guess she never made it home."

"Well lividity's settled, there's no sign that the body's been moved." Alexx was continuing her initial assessment as the two CSIs considered the possible circumstances, pointing to the layer of dull blue tinged skin which was produced when the blood from the deceased had settled within the lifeless flesh; no longer pumped around veins, arteries and capillaries by a still and unresponsive heart.

In his mind Horatio saw a quick snapshot of how the scene may well have played out.

_The young woman standing in front of the tree was smiling, laughing gaily until her companion raised a gun, barely a split second later a vicious wound exploded in her neck, the bullet continuing its spinning trajectory right through the soft tissue of her throat, creating a large exit wound on the other side. She staggered, thrown back against the rough bark of the tree by the force of the impact. Her breathing rasped loudly as she clawed at the skin on her neck, desperate to try and find some relief from the immense pain. She quickly began to lose consciousness and slid jerkily down the sturdy trunk, ending in a sitting position amongst the roots. The faceless killer took a few steps forward, coming to a halt beside her weakening form, observing his victim as the last dregs of life drained from her. A moment later he had raised the weapon once more and put another bullet through her temple, with a force which sent her head lolling to the side. That was the kill shot. It was an unnecessary brutality, the girl would have been dead in seconds anyway, the second shot was merely a macabre insurance that there was no chance that this victim could be saved. _And, Horatio thought to himself, _the reason why her family would undoubtedly not be having an open casket._

"We've got fixed lividity, blood spatter on the tree behind her and, by the looks of it, a juicy bullet hole for Calleigh to investigate. This is most definitely our primary crime scene." Horatio assessed the situation.

"Did I hear someone mention my name and 'bullet' in the same sentence?" Despite the quiet tone of the question, the unexpected comment made Eric jump as he turned to find Calleigh standing right behind him, having quietly approached the scene without being noticed.

"Calleigh! Where did you come from?"

"The lab." Calleigh answered in a totally convincing, matter of fact tone, without a trace of sarcasm, but Horatio knew that she was dying to laugh at Eric's reaction. But there were more serious matters to be dealt with, and they didn't come more serious than murder.

"Think you can get the bullet out of this tree for comparison?"

"You know it." Her eyes had lit up at the prospect of working in her beloved ballistics lab.

"Ok guys, Alexx, you think you can get her out of here as quick as possible? Bag the extremities and scrape at the lab if you need to. We need to be quick on this scene, my guess is the press is gonna be all over us before long." He took a quick look towards the stocky tower just visible to the north of the park, "You know who owns that building right?"

It dawned on Eric what Horatio was saying. "That's the _Miami Herald_ headquarters. They'll have photographers with zoom lenses up there in the blink of an eye and before we know it our crime scene will be front page news."

"Yep." Horatio nodded his head, "So we need more photos of the scene ASAP Eric, so that the body can be removed. The least we can do right now is give this girl some dignity in death. Then take a good look around the scene, bag and tag everything that might be interesting, if it doesn't look interesting, bag it and tag it anyway. Calleigh, I need you to get hold of that bullet and then start on the sketches."

"On it." Calleigh called over her shoulder as she headed back to the car to retrieve her kit."

As he saw his team jump into action Horatio felt incredibly proud. His department had one of the best case-solve rates in the country, and he knew that the dedication of his team of criminalists made sure that that rate never dropped.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3. – Turning up the 'Heat'**

Ryan Wolfe pulled the police department vehicle, an unmarked sedan, into a space outside the main entrance to the American Airlines Arena. Horatio and Eric had already commandeered CSI Hummers for their callout to a DB in Bicentennial Park and the other was in for a service and to have some of its side panels replaced after being perforated rather severely by an exchange of gunfire at a drug raid the previous day. So Ryan had been forced to check out a much smaller vehicle than he was used to and had just about managed to fit all the equipment in the trunk, although a few pieces had had to spill over onto the back seat. He had grumbled and whined as he tried to fit all their equipment into the small space to such a degree that Natalia had threatened to maim him in the most painful way she could come up with if he didn't shut up.

They'd been sitting in the break room back at CSI both nursing their first cup of coffee of the day when the call out had been relayed to their cell phones; CSIs required to confirm drug seizure at the American Airlines Arena. So between having his first caffeine hit of the day interrupted, playing a real life version of tetris with his equipment and trying not to provoke his team-mate any further, Ryan was not in the best of moods.

When there was a game or a concert on; this parking lot was full to bursting, but this morning there were hardly any vehicles in sight. The one or two cars parked next to the building were probably from members of the cleaning crew or admin staff who were just starting their normal working day cleaning up from the previous night and starting to plan future events. Wolfe looked over to the passenger seat and watched Natalia Boa Vista unbuckle her safety belt and slide gracefully out of the door. He mirrored her movement, albeit somewhat less gracefully, unfolding himself from behind the steering wheel; another problem with this particular vehicle that no-one had bothered to inform him of was that the driver's seat was stuck right up close to the wheel and couldn't be pushed back. So after a thirty minute drive, most of the time spent sitting stationary in traffic, Ryan had all but lost the feeling in his butt. When he first climbed out his leg nearly gave way under his weight, having gone to sleep about five minutes after he'd climbed into the sedan, and tried shaking his leg surreptitiously as he walked around to the trunk of the car to get his circulation working again. Ryan was muttering under his breath as he pulled the trunk open, although one stern-eyed glance from Natalia silenced him instantly.

Wolfe's cell phone started to chime merrily in his pocket as they headed towards the Arena's main entrance, he retrieved it from in amongst the folds of fabric and took a quick look at the caller display before clicking his tongue in annoyance.

"Oh great, just what I need right now."

Natalia shot him a questioning look as he delayed answering the call, a look which he returned with a small shrug. Eventually he flipped the cell phone open and placed it to his ear.

"Yeah Delko, what d'you want?"

When she found out who was on the other end of the call Ryan's delay made sense to Natalia and she sniggered quietly. Apparently, according to her sources in the lab, the two CSIs had been in competition with each other from day one and Natalia found it a constant source of amusement to hear the pair bitching at each other in the lab. Although every now and again one would stray a little close to the line with their comments and at that point she felt like slapping them both around the head and telling them to grow up. Seriously, she had no idea how Calleigh had managed to put up with the bickering for so long.

"Wolfe, you got your PDA with you?" Delko's voice came clearly through the phone's speaker.

"Nah, figured it spoilt the line of my suit so I left it in the car. Yes of course I've got my PDA with me, you think I'm an amateur?"

"Well sometimes I wonder."

"You just phoned to insult me Delko or do you actually have a reason for wasting my time?"

"Woo, someone got out of bed on the wrong side. Yeah I got a reason, I'm sending a picture over, it's our DB from Bicentennial Park this morning, H says that seeing as how you're already at the Arena, you can show the picture around see if anyone recognises her, we think she was working the merchandise stands at the game last night."

Ryan rustled around in another pocket and pulled out his PDA, finding a file downloading, the gadget beeped when the transfer was completed and he poked at the touch screen, opening the picture.

"What, you couldn't get a better photograph than that?"

"Well it was a little difficult to get a picture that showed the vic's features and avoided the huge bullet hole in her temple Wolfe." Eric was getting a little waspish with Ryan's irritable mood and placed a strong emphasis on the phrase _'bullet hole in her temple'_.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

"Listen, I'm sorry man, it's just been a real rat of a morning." Ryan moved away from Natalia as he spoke, anxious not to let his colleague know that he was apologising to Delko.

"No problem, but Ryan? Remember it's been an even worse morning for the girl in the picture. Let us know if you get anything, ok?"

"Sure." Ryan disconnected the call, a little red-faced, embarrassed that he'd let his irritability cloud his professionalism. He said his goodbye and hung up, closing the phone with a little less vim and vigour than he normally would.

"So? What did Eric want?" Natalia poked him in the side to get his attention.

"Hmm? Oh, he's got a DB over in Bicentennial Park. He thinks there might be a link to the Arena, so he's sent a picture over, wants us to see if anyone recognises her." Ryan handed her the PDA so she could take a look at the digital image.

"She's pretty."

"I guess she is." He agreed as he took another look at the picture. Sometimes it was so easy to dehumanise the victims. When you worked with such horrific crimes on a day to day basis, it was the only way for some people to deal with the knowledge that they uncovered. Ryan had come through the academy thinking that placing that distance between yourself and the victim was the only way to investigate a crime, but working alongside Horatio he had started to question this approach. The man simply radiated a passion for his work and for the victims, a passion that wouldn't let him take that step back. Ryan saw that with every case he worked he was giving away a small slice of his soul and the young CSI saw how that dedication and sacrifice inspired everyone around Horatio and comforted those close to the victim.

--

"So why do they need CSIs here?" Natalia asked as the pair walked side by side down the dull corridor both with silver forensics kits held firmly in hand.

"You remember a few months ago when a random pre-game drug test popped positive for one of the Miami Heat team?"

"Yeah, the papers ran that story to death, Joe Enturba, the player whose test came back positive; he was a nice guy with a young family right?"

"Yes, it was thought that someone who wanted the Heat team to lose that match had found out about the drug test and dosed the player so he'd be disqualified, but we couldn't prove beyond any doubt that he hadn't taken an illegal substance willingly so the NBA had no choice but to ban him for a fixed period."

"Yeah, next week's his return to the team, first game back after the ban expired. All the local papers have been running huge articles on him, giving him a lot of support."

"Well since the initial incident security at the Arena has been significantly increased. They've been performing random narcotics sweeps of the whole building using police dogs to find any drugs. This morning one of the canine units alerted and uncovered a stash in one of the staff lockers. We're here to test the substance see if we can positively identify it as an illegal substance."

"But won't it be tested back at CSI to break it down to its individual components using the mass spec?"

"Yep, but first we need to test a small sample in the field, if it pops positive then officers on the scene can seize the stash and get arrest validation, they can get a head start on pursuing the suspected perp without fear of recrimination."

"Oh, plus it starts a chain of custody right?"

"Right."

Ryan used the smooth glass surface of a display cabinet to surreptitiously observe Natalia as they walked. Her face was locked in concentration, storing away the information she had recently garnered. He had to keep reminding himself that Natalia had come to the team from a completely different route than his own. Ryan had worked for several years as a uniformed officer with the MDPD, he knew the system and its loopholes inside out. Natalia on the other hand had joined Horatio's team after following a very different path, she had been a top DNA analyst, an academic and was now having to do a lot of 'on-the-job' learning in police procedure. Although Ryan wouldn't admit it to her face, he was actually impressed by her dedicated attitude, by her constant curiosity and the unending series of pertinent questions. He still didn't quite trust her after the whole 'mole' incident, but he was certainly warming to her. Perhaps, over time, the distrust would vanish altogether, replaced by friendship and faith. Who knew, stranger things had happened.

--

Ryan scooped a small sample of the test substance into a small plastic pod that he had plucked from his silver kit, sealed it and gave the pod a quick squeeze to break the ampoule full of chemical reactants. A shake mixed all the contents together and Ryan watched as the interior of the pouch turned a vivid blue colour.

"Blue as sky. Positive for cocaine, you got your arrest validation guys, go get him."

Smiles appeared on the faces of the two uniformed police officers who had been hanging around, watching over the CSI's shoulder as Ryan was testing the suspicious substance. The cops patted Ryan on the shoulder and said a brief word of thanks, dipped their heads in Natalia's direction, adding a quick Ma'am and hurried out of the room.

Ryan studied the narcotics test pod and smirked. It was amazing how something so small could hold such huge importance; that little bit of blue was going to _really_ mess up someone's day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Identity**

"Ok guys what've we got?" Horatio walked into the layout room and took a seat next to the light table alongside the rest of the team who were already gathered. He leaned his elbows on the table, fingers meshed together and adopted a curious yet neutral expression that suggested he was ready to hear the information they had gathered together thus far. With Ryan and Natalia's initial drug test case being a quick clearance they had joined the team in investigating what promised to be a much more complex case; the discovery of the dead young woman in the park.

"Well first thing, we're having some problems actually identifying the victim H." Delko looked perplexed as he spoke.

Horatio found this bewilderment a little odd, considering they'd dealt with numerous cases before where the victim's identity had remained a mystery throughout the investigation. _Why_, he wondered, _should this case pose any more issues than past cases?_

"No hit on AFIS?"

"Well actually, that's where one of the problems lies. There _was_ an AFIS record for her, but it just doesn't seem to make sense. Ryan, perhaps you should explain." Eric shook his head, sighed and gave up trying to explain, handing the baton over to his team mate.

"Sure. Well when we were done with our call out for the drug bust at the Arena we passed the picture of the vic around with some of the staff. They all identified her as Amanda Barton. No-one knew all that much about her, said she'd only been working at the Arena for a couple of weeks, kept herself to herself, hadn't really made any good friends. We checked out the name Amanda Barton on the national records and hit a dead end, the only thing that's linked to her is a bank account that her wages are paid into, there have only been deposits from her employers in the account, no transfers, no withdrawals. The personal details on file lead to a non-existent address and the telephone number is a local pizzeria."

"So she's using an alias and the job at the arena is just a cover."

"Yeah, well that's where it gets a little weird. We got permission from the Arena Management to check out her locker. When we got inside we found these…" Ryan spread an array of ID cards and letters across the surface of the table in front of him. Each one was registered in a different name, although the photographic image on each was the same; that of their victim."

"Ok, so she's using lots of aliases. You said there was a hit on AFIS..." Horatio mused as he studied the plastic cards.

"Yeah, prints give us a record for a Tara Bryan, but again there's no matching personal record for a Tara Bryan in Miami. It's weird."

"Why were her prints in the system?"

"It was a registration for a press pass. Linked to a newspaper that stopped being printed about a year ago. We checked old employment records for the company which are still on file and came up with a personnel file for one Tara Bryan; same story as Amanda Barton, the address and contact details on record are a bust. Neither exist or have ever officially existed."

"So is anyone else working on the same lines as me? Because I'm thinking this girl was either a confidence trickster or she was heavily into identity theft." Delko spoke up.

"Well, I was thinking about that too, the identity theft part anyway." Calleigh spoke with an even rhythm to her voice as she considered Eric's theory. "But if there's no record of these people actually existing other than in these ID cards why would someone want to steal their identity, surely the whole idea of that scam is to assume someone else's identity and the benefits that it affords, not to create a whole new one." Calleigh's mind had been working furiously giving her an edge over Delko, allowing her to spot the flaws in his theory.

"Good point. So she's a con artist then." Eric nodded at Calleigh as he spoke, immediately seeing the sense in her words.

"I'm not so sure about that." Horatio's voice was quiet, yet it commanded attention from the other CSIs sitting around the table.

"You don't think she was a con artist H?" All eyes were now trained on the supervisor as Eric asked his question.

"I'm not ruling it out, but I think there may be another explanation. We follow the evidence ladies and gentlemen. We don't jump to conclusions."

"Ok, so what are you thinking, what fits the evidence?" Calleigh countered, her eyes glinting, eager to see what alternative route their boss's mind had taken him down.

Horatio turned to Ryan.

"Mr Wolfe, I need you to do me a favour and go and have a chat with Miss Sykes."

"Erika?" He paused. "You _want_ me to go talk to a reporter?"

"Well, I'd rather you didn't give her any quotes on ongoing cases or anything," this elicited a quiet laugh from Delko, "but I would like you to take a photograph of our victim with you and see if she recognises her."

"You think our vic was a reporter." Calleigh said excitedly as she realised where his train of thought was taking him.

"Call it a hunch, but yes I think she might have been an investigative reporter. Multiple identities and an old AFIS hit that leads to a newspaper, worth chasing up the possibility anyway." Horatio smiled over at Calleigh, he could always rely on her to see where his mind was leading him before anyone else got out of the starting blocks.

"Ok." Ryan got up from the table and walked to the doorway, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he went. Horatio smiled as he noticed that Ryan dialled Erika's number from memory, he knew that Ryan had a definite soft spot for the blonde reporter, he also knew that the young CSI was facing a huge dilemma, it was an unfortunate fact that police and the press quite simply didn't mix and Ryan was still clinging on to the hope that maybe they could be the exception to the rule. Unfortunately Horatio had encountered Erika Sykes at too many crime scenes to agree with Ryan's hopes. She was simply too determined, too trained on her goal of becoming the most famous reporter in Miami to put anyone else's feelings first. Unfortunately, Ryan was going to have to work that out on his own, Horatio knew that there was no point in trying to warn him off just to protect him from a little heartbreak. Ryan needed to experience Erika's ruthlessness first hand to comprehend the futility of his hopes. All Horatio could do was to keep an eye on the situation and hope that Ryan wouldn't compromise the lab in his attempt to woo the reporter.

While Ryan was standing just outside the room on his phone, Horatio turned his attention back to the remaining members of the team who were still seated around the table. Calleigh was leafing through the ID cards, she paused briefly and looked up, glancing from Horatio to Eric and then back again.

"Y'know the problem with living different lives, pretending to be different people, means that somewhere along the way you forget who you really are."

The words struck Horatio as particularly meaningful, he knew exactly who Calleigh had in mind as she spoke those words, since she had attended the academy she had fallen hard for a young cadet by the name of Jake Berkeley, whose path in the police force had taken him into the seedy world of undercover work. Although Calleigh had managed to maintain a calm exterior she couldn't hide the fact from Horatio that she was worried that Jake would go too far one day and forget exactly why he had joined the force in the first place. One day he might cross a line and get to a point from which there could be no return. While he sympathised dearly with her situation, hearing Calleigh's words pushed Horatio's mind to another line of thought, one closer to his own heart. His brother, Raymond, had worked in an undercover narcotics unit just like Jake. He had gone too far, crossed the line and the rumour of his being a dirty cop had followed him to the grave…twice. Ray had changed exponentially when he had gone undercover, morphing from the kind and generous brother that Horatio had once known into a hard, distant drug addict that he hardly recognised. Ray had forgotten where his priorities lay, who he owed his primary responsibility to; Yelina, his wife and Ray Junior, his son, who had suffered because he had got lost, because he had forgotten who he was.

The trio fell into a brief silence, thinking over Calleigh's words, a silence which was only broken when Ryan re-entered the room, his face a little red. The hue of his skin only deepened in colour when he saw Calleigh's smirk and Delko started to make little kissing sounds. Horatio fought his desire to laugh at the young CSI's obvious discomfort and shot Delko a warning glance, which made him stop instantly.

"She's following a breaking story right now, she can see me tomorrow afternoon."

"Good. So moving on from the issue of identification, Calleigh, how did you get on with the bullet from the scene?"

"No joy I'm afraid Horatio, I extracted the bullet from the tree at the scene. Projectile was a little beaten up, but I managed to straighten it out and get a look at the rifling characteristics. Ran it through IBIS, but didn't get a match. My gut feeling would be that the perp's an old hand at this, but the gun's new. It's tough to look someone in the eye, shoot them straight on then wait for them to hit the ground and finish the job with a temple shot. Beginners usually start with a shot to the back, easier that way; you don't have to look at your victim's eyes while they're dying."

"Thank-you Calleigh, what do we know about the vic's movments in the hours prior to her death?"

"The people we interviewed at the Arena said Amanda worked the merchandise stands until the arena closed and then helped cleaning up. She left at about 12.30 am. The girl she was working with said our vic was planning to meet some guy after work." Ryan supplied the information he'd managed to get from the other Arena employees.

"We have an ID on the guy?"

"No, the vic never told her friend who she was meeting. Just that she was meeting him in Bicentennial Park before they headed over to the funfair that's been set up on the far side of the park."

"Looks like she never made it to the fair. We need to work on finding out who this man was that she was supposed to be meeting. At this moment in time, he's our prime suspect."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – Soapsuds and Skeletons.**

Steam curled under the door to the bathroom and Horatio could hear Grace humming sweetly, granted it was completely tuneless, and every now and again she would find a note so unpleasant that it actually made him cringe, but it was sweet nonetheless. Horatio smiled as he realised that just a year ago his apartment had been silent, that there had been no happy song and that to be honest he'd done anything possible to escape the barren abode; even if it meant spending all his waking hours and, he freely admitted to himself, a great proportion of his sleeping hours too, in the lab. Now with Grace's presence everything had come alive. When she was there, and he had to confess that she'd virtually moved in, the apartment was a pleasurable place to spend time. The sound of life filled the air, laughter, song, just the gentle rhythm of her normal speaking voice. He would frequently be greeted by the smell of her perfume, soap and the scent of cooking as he opened the door into his apartment after a day at work, and with that first breath all the stress of a horrible day lifted from him and left him wondering why he had been feeling so exhausted. That was part of her magic; she bought him alive. He never felt tired when she was near, no matter how long his shift had been. He felt like he could work a week straight; be near to collapsing from exhaustion and yet if she was by his side he would find the strength to run a marathon. She had turned what had previously been a mere apartment into a _home_.

He had returned from the lab fairly early this evening, analysis was still ongoing with the Jane Doe case from the park that morning but little information had been gleaned for the rest of the day. You had cases like this every now and again, when the investigative work felt like you were wading through treacle and every small breakthrough came after an exhaustingly lengthy process of work. In the end, when his vision had started to go fuzzy from rereading the facts they'd amassed so far, he'd called the team back into the layout room and told them to take off a little early, hoping that with a good night's sleep behind them and fresh eyes they would bring some life to the investigation. Horatio also realised that he was hoping that Ryan's chat with Erika Sykes was going to provide them with a much needed lead.

Suddenly the melody that had drifted from the bathroom…erm…perhaps _'melody'_ was too kind a term for Grace's singing…stopped and a few seconds later she emerged, a towel wrapped around her and her hair twisted into a turban with another towel, more steam and a cloud of scented air wafting out as she pulled the door open sharply.

"Dammit."

Horatio twisted around from where he was sitting in the lounge, stretched out on one of the beige sofas, draping one arm over the back of the seat, he smiled at the sight that she presented, maniacally running backwards and forwards between the kitchen, the bathroom and the bedroom.

"Erm, are you having some sort of fit, or is there something I can do to help?" Horatio chuckled.

"No, no, no. I just realised, I left my press pass at my apartment. What time is it?" She rushed over to Horatio and grabbed his wrist, twisting it until she could see the face of his wristwatch. Horatio let out a quiet yelp as his muscles were forced to move in a direction that they simply weren't designed to.

"Y'know Gracie, the problem with skeletons is that they don't always bend the way you want them to." He massaged his arm, trying to make the dull ache go away.

She simply stared at him blankly and he knew that his last comment had been lost in amongst the maelstrom of her own panicked thoughts that were thundering around inside her head.

"I'm going to have to stop off at my place and pick up the pass before I go to the show, which is going to make me incredibly late. Simon's going to kill me. Why did I agree to do this again?"

The initial prompt for Grace to move from her lifelong home of New York City down to the tropical atmosphere of Miami had been the offer of a job at one of Miami's major fashion houses. The secondary reason and one which seemed so fortuitous considering the placement of the job offer had been to try and locate her long-lost sister who had vanished from her life many years past yet still sent greeting cards which were always postmarked 'Miami'. It was this latter task that had initially bought Grace and Horatio together. Now, twelve months down the line Grace had settled into her new employment, quickly becoming an indispensable member of the fashion house team. Horatio knew that Grace's working environment was most definitely a happy one and while she would often describe her supervisor, Simon Westacre, as a bit of a slave-driver he was pretty sure that Grace managed to run rings around her boss.

On this particular occasion one of the other photographers on Grace's team had called to ask if she could cover for her at the launch show of the firm's new collection and Grace, never wanting to let a friend down, had agreed to cover. Now, however, with the show just hours away and Grace needing to get to the venue before any of the audience to set up her lighting Horatio was being treated to a showing of the more manic side of his fiancée's persona, a personality quirk that he always found a little funny.

"You agreed to do this because Julie had some sort of crisis and you are a wonderful person." Horatio had raised himself from the couch and intercepted her frantic pacing, grabbed her by her hand and pulled her into a hug, placing a kiss on her forehead.

She smiled and slapped him gently on the arm.

"How is it that you always know what to say?"

"I'm a genius."

"And modest too?" She raised her eyebrows into a questioning look, making him chuckle.

"Where are your keys?"

"In my purse. Why?"

"Just get ready, I'll go fetch your pass."

Grace flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

"I love you."

"Likewise. Now go get ready, I won't be long." He watched as Grace sashayed back into the bathroom and was enveloped once more into the cloud of steam.

'_In my purse'_, oh God, how could such a simple phrase strike fear into him? Probably because a woman's purse was sacred and forbidden territory; somewhere that most men feared to go. Horatio understood women perhaps more than most men, mainly because he actually bothered to listen to them, yet still he found the need to carry virtually one's entire life around in a bag an unfathomable notion. He'd seen Grace trying to extricate a comb from her bag at one point, she'd virtually emptied the entire contents onto the kitchen table and Horatio had been absolutely amazed at the amount of junk in there, there was even a mini-screwdriver set, what on earth would she want to carry screwdrivers around with her for? It wasn't as if the bag was that big either, so how she managed to fit all that stuff in there in the first place was a complete mystery. He had idly wondered at times if packing her bag in a morning and trying to fit all the detritus into the allotted space took the form of a task, like one of those IQ challenges where you had to construct a 3D cube in under a minute. Now he was going to have to brave the unknown himself and try to locate her keys, he started to wonder that if he got lost and failed to emerge from the bag just how long it would be before they sent in a search party.

'_zzziiiiip'_ The fastening opened with a crisp sound, but the first item to be revealed was not what he would class with the general detritus that he'd expected to find, in fact this was the last thing he'd expected to find in his fiancée's possession. Suddenly, all the light-hearted thoughts about IQ challenges and search parties vanished, replaced instead by much darker feelings as Horatio peeled back the soft leather of the purse and the light fell on the brushed metal surface of what was undeniably a gun grip. Horatio reached in and pulled out the small firearm, balancing it gently in the palms of his hands as if it was about to explode. Checking the gun over he found that the safety catch was engaged, he quickly unclipped the magazine and found it full of ammunition. Pulling back the slide he took a look into the small aperture that appeared and found there was no bullet in the chamber, which meant the weapon wasn't cocked and ready to fire just yet, although judging by the pristine condition of the weapon it was cleaned regularly, that meant she must have at least a little gun knowledge. He looked between the gun in his hands and the closed surface of the bathroom door. What in the heck would make her want to own a gun?

Horatio resumed his search of the bag and quickly managed to locate the keys to Grace's apartment relatively near the top of the pile of contents. He stuffed the firearm back inside the bag, which he left on the table and slipped out of the apartment, his mind a blur of thoughts.

It was over half an hour later when Grace emerged from the bedroom, clad in a black dress, her honey-blonde hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head. She had heard Horatio return a few minutes before and found him sitting at the table.

"Ta-da!" She twirled, showing off her outfit, but rather than the wide grin she had expected Horatio merely continued staring at her with an even gaze, although there was a light in his eyes that allowed her to see his mind was working quickly. "What, you don't like it?" Grace's eyes shifted from his unreadable face to the surface of the table in front of him which held her gun, and suddenly everything made sense. "Oh."

"Mmm, 'oh'. Now let's get straight down to it shall we? What the heck do you have a gun for Grace?"

"Now before you go off and start lecturing me Horatio I have a licence for that, so it's fully legal." She placed her fists firmly on her hips as she spoke, a stance that she had seen Horatio adopt so many times.

"Legal has nothing to do with it Grace, why've you got it in the first place?" Still his face remained neutral, if he was angry with his discovery he wasn't showing it. If she had been pushed to describe his emotion she would have to say that the tone of his voice suggested the merest hint of disappointment.

"Because I'm an independent woman Horatio, I look after myself and I've owned a gun ever since I legally could." She abandoned her hands on hips stance and walked over, picking the firearm up from the surface of the table, deftly checking the safety catch and the magazine, in the same manner that Horatio had done earlier. It was a new side to her that he's never seen before, this woman, usually so innocent and ever so slightly naive, who he would otherwise have expected to be nervous around any sort of weapon was handling the firearm like a pro. He had to admit, she seemed perfectly at ease with it and that fact scared him a little. There was something about the way in which she clicked the magazine back into place with a crisp 'snap' that somehow reminded him of Calleigh.

"But…why?"

She sat down in the chair opposite him, placing the weapon on the smooth wooden surface between them. She took a deep breath and started to speak. "Many months ago you told me that there were things in your past that weren't pleasant and that while you didn't want to keep secrets from me that there were just things you didn't talk about; for your own piece of mind as well as mine. Well, I guess we all have a few skeletons in our closets Horatio. Just like you, I've got things in my past that I don't speak about, which I'm not proud about, but which I won't allow to intrude upon my life any more than they already do. You keep your feelings about Marisol, Raymond, Speedle, your mother, all the people you've lost in your life bottled up inside and I, well, I haven't gone through nearly as much, but I…"

As she spoke her eyes were wide and fixed on his own, her gaze was so intense that he didn't dare break the connection by looking away, it was almost as if he was looking directly into her soul. In that second he saw something fall into place behind her eyes as she decided to share her thoughts, feelings and memories with the man in front of her.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming her mind before she started to speak. "When I was seventeen, I…I was…" She dropped her line of vision to the table as her voice started to break and Horatio could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She tried to breath deeply again and attempted to calm down but found that now she'd tipped herself over the edge it was almost impossible to continue.

Horatio had seen women in this state before, too many women had sat in an interview room, or in a hospital bed and told him exactly the same thing, they had the same expression and the same tone of voice and he knew instantly what she was about to say. He hoped to God that he was wrong, that the woman he loved had never had to go through such an ordeal, but he suspected that his initial hunch was correct.

"You were raped?" He whispered.

She didn't question how he knew, just accepted it and nodded her head slowly.

"Yes."

What made him really angry was the fact that he could detect the shame in her voice, it had been the same with every victim he'd interviewed, every single one of them had blamed themselves in some way; that was what pulled at the knot of anger in his chest, making it tighter. These women were ashamed because of something completely beyond their control, because of some bastard's lack of moral scruples and control over his perversion; the victims would eternally be looking over their shoulders.

When she looked up however, he didn't see the scared expression that he had expected, instead there was a steadfast determination and defiance. The fear and humility all but vanished, but Horatio knew better than to believe the surface picture, he knew that the fear was still there bundled up in a small ball deep inside her soul. She might be able to hide the outward signs through the regular practice of mental exercises but he doubted she would ever truly be free of the fear and pain.

"That…that bastard took all my confidence, he made me feel dirty, he made me feel responsible. I never told anyone about it, not Mom and Dad, not Sarah, not the police, no-one," she paused momentarily to take a deep breath, "but I made damn sure it wouldn't happen again. As soon as I could, I bought my first gun. I won't let anyone make me feel like that again Horatio. _No-one_."

_My God_, he thought, she had gone through that whole nightmare completely alone. Throughout the course of his career he'd seen women that even with all the support in the world were still not quite able to get their lives back. Grace had dealt with this without any kind of support network at all, and yet had managed to keep up the façade of normality. It had been the one secret burning white hot inside of her that she had never felt able to share with anyone, and yet she had felt that she trusted him enough to tell him. Right then he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and never let her go, but he didn't. Her mind had taken her to a dark place in her past where all male physical contact may be viewed as a bad thing; words were all that he could use to comfort her at this moment.

"I promise you Gracie, no-one will ever make you feel like that again, I will protect you from that."

"_That's not good enough Horatio_." She could see that her words had hurt him as soon as she said them, so she continued in an attempt to explain. "I have to protect myself. I know that you will do everything in your power to keep me safe, but I need you to understand, I don't want to have to rely on someone else, in fact after all this time I don't think I _could_ rely solely on someone else. That's why I carry a gun." She reached out and touched his hand, which was lying on the table before looking up to his face so he could read the heartfelt honesty in her expression, desperate for him to comprehend what she was saying, to know that it wasn't a slight against him but something that she had to do for herself. "Please understand."

He spent just a few seconds looking at her.

"I understand." He nodded.

"Thank-you..." She smiled a slightly lopsided grin as she once again conquered her fear. "Now come on, I've got a show to get to."

It was too soon to just move past this and Horatio knew that this would be a hurdle that only time could help them get over but he let it go at that, moving on for the moment.

"Well then, let's start this conversation over, what does my rather gorgeous fiancée look like tonight?"

"Grace stood up from the table and took a few steps back, once again twirling.

"Ta-da." This time as she looked at Horatio the stern expression had vanished, replaced instead by the wide grin that she had initially expected to see.

"Perfect."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – It'd never work.**

Erika Sykes was already seated in a booth towards the back of the diner when Ryan arrived. She was dressed in loose-fitting white linen trousers and a vibrant terracotta coloured top that fully accentuated her figure. Her hair was loose now, skimming her shoulders, unlike earlier when he'd watched her live report from the marina covering the death of a couple after their yacht had capsized, then, her hair had been pinned up in a professional style. The whole time Ryan had known Erika she had always been working, never sitting back and taking time to breathe, even now as he watched her from across the busy diner he could see that she had her notebook out and was frantically scribbling notes down. What he saw her do next disappointed him slightly, although he had to admit it was not unexpected, Erika glanced around towards the door, evidently not seeing him in the crowd, before leaning down and extracting a small tape recorder from her bag. She pushed a few buttons and quickly shoved it in amongst the leafy plant that stood near to the seat opposite her, the seat that he would be expected to sit in. Now he understood why she had chosen that particular booth. He shook his head, if he hadn't needed the possible information she could provide he would have walked out of the diner right there and then, but he did. So, swallowing the bitter taste of irritation that had suddenly leapt to his throat, he started the walk to the table.

She heard his footsteps before he'd quite arrived at the table and turned around to greet him, her face set into a wide smile.

"Ryan." She stood up and gave him a quick hug, but backed off again almost immediately when she felt the tension in his body. "Are you ok?"

Ryan simply stood there silently for a few seconds just looking at her, before speaking in a low, almost growling voice.

"Turn it off."

"Turn what off?" She attempted to feign ignorance at his command, but her eyes momentarily gave her away as they flicked up to the place where the recorder was concealed.

"Just turn it off."

This time she made no attempt to deny the presence of the recorder and leaned over, extracting the digital gadget from the potted plant and theatrically turning it off. She slid it across the table so he could check it was turned off, which he did. It sat in the middle of the table, a barrier between the two of them, a symbol of why they could never be more than professional acquaintances.

When Ryan had first transferred to CSI from his job on patrol he had thought they might be able to have something more, that perhaps they could be the exception to the rule, but then she had used a simple off the cuff remark he had made about potassium iodide testing to publicise an ongoing police investigation which had sparked a panic in the city. He had known then that as much as he wanted it, they could never venture into anything more than an occasional working relationship, reporters and cops just couldn't mix.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the waitress who took their order for coffee and disappeared off to find a freshly brewed pot.

"So I guess you didn't want to meet up just to chat about the weather." She was sulking, sitting back in her seat, her arms crossed in front of her and her lips were set into a pout. He wondered if she knew just how sexy she looked when she did that, if she knew just how much it made him want to make her smile again. Then the thought flashed into his mind that she probably did realise this and was once again merely trying to manipulate him.

"Likewise." He nodded in the direction of the recorder, and he saw her face flush pink, he'd caught her out and her face fell into blank resignation as she realised that there was no chance she could stage-manage him with her charm today.

"So what do you want?"

"I want to know if you recognise her." Ryan pulled a photograph out of his jacket pocket and pushed it over the table towards Natalia. The photograph was of the victim from Bicentennial Park the previous morning.

She twisted it around so she could take a good look at the image. While she was looking, the waitress returned and poured them both the cup of coffee they had ordered. Erika lifted the print up close to her face and squinted at it before lowering it back down to the table top.

"Yes, I do know her."

"Who is she?"

"Why don't you go use your wonderful police databases to find out?" She was acting like a petulant child, merely because he'd caught her out and stopped her playing her little game.

"Erika." His sharp tone cut through her internal irritation and suddenly she saw how pathetic she must seem to him at this moment. She flushed red and dropped her eyes back to the glossy print lying between them on the table.

"Sorry." The apology was mumbled. "Her name is Keisha O'Neill; she's a reporter for _The Sentry_."

"_The Miami Sentry_? The newspaper that prides itself in its explosive exposés?" Ryan was speaking to himself more than anything, but Erika interpreted it as a question directed at her.

"Yes. Keisha was one of their top reporters. She spent a lot of time getting to know the subjects of her stories, she'd work for months just infiltrating the groups of people she was writing about. She really cared about the victims and it wasn't about the money or the five minutes of fame for her, she really cared. How'd she die?"

"What makes you think she's dead?"

"Well, you're here irritating me when I really should be working and I know she's not just sleeping in the picture, I've seen enough corpse shots to recognise one when I see it."

"Fair enough. She was murdered in the early hours of this morning."

"Oh."

Ryan was surprised, he had essentially dangled a very tasty piece of bait in front of the reporter, there was usually nothing quite so interesting as murder to Erika, but there was none of the spark of curiosity that she usually had at the sniff of a vicious crime. She must have sensed his puzzlement and correctly interpreted it.

"Professional courtesy." She gave a base laugh that was devoid of any real humour. "Besides _'The Sentry'_ will doubtless be covering her death. There's no story in it for me."

"What sort of subjects did she cover?"

"Oh it varied. Battered wives, Cuban immigrants, the Mala Noche. She started off on the crime beat, covering rapes, murders, and on the quiet days the occasional purse snatching. But she soon moved on to the bigger stories that took a lot more research."

Ryan's ears had pricked up at the mention of her involvement on the Mala Noche story, maybe they were a factor in her death. He stored the information away in the back of his mind, determined to reveal this interesting development to Horatio as soon as he could.

"What story was she working on when she died?"

Erika gave another mirthless laugh.

"Ryan, you are a very clever man, but sometimes you can be very naïve. It's a good job you don't work in journalism, they'd eat you alive." She patted his hand, which was resting on the table. "You think she'd tell another reporter about her next big scoop? And have them gazump her to the headline? Not a chance. I'd be surprised if even her editor knew what she was working on. It's a dog eat dog world in the journalism business Ryan."

He watched her as she picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip. Her delicate fingers wrapped around the vessel, her eyes looked down at the hot, caffeine-laced liquid as she drank before allowing her gaze to dart up and meet his. Ryan paused, momentarily confused, wondering if perhaps he had been mistaken in thinking there could never be a 'them', that maybe there was a chance that someday they might find a way to make it work between them.

Then, Erika placed the cup down on the table, her hand reached out and for a second he thought she was going to touch his hand again, but instead her grasp fell short and there was a crisp click as she turned on the digital recorder.

"So anyway, what exciting news have you got for me from MDPD?" She asked with a smile holding the recorder up towards him.

He clicked his tongue, making an irritated tutting sound as he slipped quickly out of the booth.

_No, there was no way they could make it work._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Ok, so I know that this is probably a bit out of character for H, but I don't care – I'm indulging my need for fluffy, cuddly moments! _

_(As an aside note if anyone knows of a man who does this sort of thing, please send him to me at once!)_

**Chapter 7 – The Perfect Man?**

"…If I just walked out now d'ya think they'd notice?" Grace quipped to one of the lighting technicians who was leaning up against the wall furiously sucking the life out of the cigarette he'd just lit up.

"Probably not honey, I'd guess that they have a limited amount of brain cells that simply can't concentrate on more than one thing at once and apparently eyeliner is the most important thing in the world right now." He nodded towards one of the models who was currently pasting a block of eyeliner onto her lids.

"Oh for goodness sake. Alicia, will you please stop applying more make-up when you think no-one's looking. We're shooting a collection of pastels, you're going to look like a Goth that took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in fancy dress as Strawberry Shortcake. Will someone get a tissue and wipe that crap off her eyes?"

Alicia shot Grace a killer look, a look which for some reason faltered mid-glare and Grace wondered what had made her break her stare. She found out the reason about half a second later when a deep, grumbling voice whispered in her ear.

"Y'know you're very sexy when you're mad."

Grace jumped what felt like a mile into the air and gave a quiet yelp of surprise. When she turned round she found Horatio standing directly behind her, hands planted on his hips, his ever-present sunglasses hooked around his neck, trying his hardest not to laugh at her startled reaction.

"Horatio!" She whacked him playfully on the arm. "Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?"

"Not expressly so." He gave in to the urge and laughed at her reaction. "So I'm guessing from the rather frayed nerves of everyone that I've encountered since I came in the main entrance that today has not been a good day."

"You could put it that way."

"How would you put it?"

"I'd say that this has been a nightmare of a day, we started off at hell and it got worse from then; although suddenly it's starting to look a whole lot better." She grinned as he laced his fingers through hers. "We're working with models from an agency that we haven't worked with before, and after today's little debacle aren't likely to be working with again. They've been irritating and antisocial and I swear mosquitoes have more favourable attention spans, damn prima donnas." She let out a frustrated groan, that became muffled as Horatio pulled her into a tight one-armed hug.

"Thank-you."

"What for?"

"For being psychic. Seeing you was just what I needed to be able to get through the rest of this god-awful day."

"Plus, I bought cake." Horatio smiled as he pulled out a small container from behind his back and Grace's eager eye followed the box and noted with a grin that chocolate was involved.

"You angel." She turned back to the lighting technician briefly who was now trying to extract all the nicotine from a second cigarette. "Chris, I think I've found the perfect man, he appears when I most need to see him _and_ brings cake."

"Marry him honey, life don't get much better than that."

Horatio couldn't tell whether Chris was being sarcastic or not as his eyes never left the nicotine stick in his hand.

Grace took a quick glance at her watch and sighed heavily.

"I'm going to have to get back to work, otherwise we're not going to get this collection done today," she said to Horatio. To the rest of the room she called "Ok people let's get back to it." She watched in amazement as the models, who had been so uncooperative before the break, virtually leapt to their allotted positions in front of the camera. "That's amazing, not even a grumble." She noted, wide-eyed. Now she started to feel guilty, had she just been working the models too hard? Perhaps all they had wanted was a quick break. Then she noticed the wide grin on Horatio's face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Horatio. Tell me." She narrowed her eyes, put a hand on her hip and started to tap her foot.

Horatio relented.

"I busted a couple of them for cocaine possession a few months ago. They had a pretty big stash, but we let it go at possession rather than adding an 'intent to supply' charge and a warning that they'd better stay on the straight and narrow or the supply charge would come back to bite them in the ass."

"Well that explains a lot. How about you just stay right there for the rest of the day so they actually do what they're told."

"I'd love to stay and act as a shepherd for your rebellious flock, but unfortunately I've got a murder investigation to get back to. I'm just waiting for a report from Ryan…ah speak of the devil." Horatio's cell phone started to ring. He extracted the ringing phone from his jacket but didn't answer it immediately.

"Shepherd? Perhaps zookeeper would be a better analogy."

"Point taken, good luck." Horatio grinned again and then leaned forward placing a kiss on Grace's forehead. "See you later."

"See you later."

"Ladies, she's my second in command," he nodded towards Grace, "behave yourselves." He inclined his head in the direction of the models, who all visibly breathed a sigh of relief as he finally turned away from them again.

As Horatio walked away Grace saw him flip open the cell phone, which immediately halted the ringing, and lifted it to his ear.

"Mr Wolfe, talk to me…"

--

As soon as Grace pulled her car into the parking space in the lot at the foot of the building she knew something was going on. The crime lab Hummer was sitting there in the space next to hers, what was Horatio doing home so early? She checked her watch just to make sure that she hadn't entered some sort of time warp on her way home from work that had made her lose several hours and that it wasn't in fact the early hours of the morning or something. Nope, her watch was still ticking away merrily and the face read half past five. Horatio was never home this early, what the heck was going on?

From the moment that Horatio had made an appearance at the studio Grace's hellish day had taken a turn for the better. The models, who had been so awkward that morning were suddenly rays of light for the rest of the afternoon. The team had managed to catch up from the morning's delays and had even finished shooting the sets a little earlier than they'd originally anticipated. Grace was seriously considering trying to persuade Horatio that he should visit her everyday. Heck, she'd pay him to come and spend time on set if it meant that the whole process went that smoothly.

Her mind was a blur of thoughts as she stepped into the elevator in Horatio's apartment; _their_ apartment, it was nice to be able to call it that - their apartment, Grace still rented her own place, mainly because she had way too much stuff to fit into Horatio's modest home and they hadn't really broached the subject of her getting rid of the place in casual conversation. Although the only time she ever stayed in her own apartment was if she had to work late at a show or night-time shoot and didn't want to disturb Horatio's sleep, his job already demanded so much of his time that he sacrificed a great deal of sleep and she didn't want to add to his fatigue by waking him up at some hideous hour in the morning.

A mixture of exhaustion from the awful day and curiosity, a desperate need to find out why Horatio was back so early niggled at her brain as the elevator carriage started its trundling journey up the apartment block. Had he been hurt in the course of the murder investigation he had mentioned earlier? Had he been disciplined for taking time out of his work to visit her? Oh she couldn't bear the guilt if that had happened. Grace tentatively slipped her key into the front door, trying not to make a sound as she turned the key and gained entry to the abode. What she encountered on the other side of the door took her breath away. Despite the sunshine of a Miami afternoon the apartment was dark; the drapes having been pulled across the large windows. The light was replaced by the flickering illumination of candles dotted all around the visible space and a delicate scent of jasmine wafted through the domicile, carried on the gentle breeze from an open window which caused the window coverings to flutter lazily. She walked forward; putting her bags down inside the apartment and allowing the door to swing shut behind her and was startled when hands were placed gently over her eyes. She tensed, but suppressed the squeal in her throat as she heard Horatio's calming voice in her ear.

"Shh, it's just me."

"What's going on?"

"I figured you could use a little relaxation after your day."

She could feel herself being guided into the apartment. When Horatio's hands were lifted away she blinked a couple of times and melted when she saw what was in front of her. The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, had small candles dotted around their flames reflected in the mirror, doubling the number of illuminating flickers in the room. A bath was run, the steam gently lifting in wisps from the surface of the water and curling up into the surrounding air, bringing its jasmine scent with it. To one side a glass of chilled white wine, the warm air meeting the cool surface of the glass and condensing, leaving little droplets of water to run down the surface and drip down the stem forming a small pool around the base.

Grace stood motionless for a second, blown away by the thoughtfulness of her fiancée, finally pushing herself to move she turned around and faced Horatio who was standing a little way back his head angled down, although she could still see the little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, waiting until he lifted his head up until she brushed her lips gently against his, an embrace which quickly became more passionate as he took the initiative, bringing his hand up to entwine his fingers in her blonde hair.

They eventually broke apart trying to catch their breath.

"Sometimes Horatio I wonder if you're not just a figment of my imagination."

"What d'you mean?"

"You're just so perfect." She grinned deeply as she saw the skin of his face colour red.

--

Grace stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white robe. She'd taken full advantage of the relaxing opportunity that the bath had offered and had spent what seemed like hours allowing the stress of the day to wash away with the rapidly cooling water. Now she padded softly through the apartment, leaving damp footprints in her wake, trying to locate Horatio. She found him sitting on the balcony outside the apartment, he was sitting on one of the metal chairs, his feet hooked up on the railings that ran around the edge of the balcony. In one hand he held a glass containing a small measure of scotch. Grace knew that he usually took his scotch on the rocks, the lack of ice in his glass meant that he'd presumably been nursing this measure long enough for the ice to melt. His eyes were concentrated on the far distance where the setting sun had painted the sky with swipes of red, orange and gold, he loved this time of the day, when everything was bathed in the warm glow of the dying sun, making the world seem so peaceful and when the complications of the day floated effortlessly away, cleansed by the appearance of the crisp new moon.

Grace walked up and stood behind him, leaning forward so she could lay her arms over his shoulders and cross them over his chest, laying a soft kiss in amongst his red hair. He tilted his head back so he could look at her, albeit upside-down.

"Hey."

"Hey. Feel a bit more relaxed?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Good." He lifted his left hand, placing the palm around the back of her head and pulling her down so he could kiss her. As they broke apart Horatio moved quickly, in one fluid movement he had placed the glass of scotch on the table that sat next to him, swung himself around in his seat and stood up. Making sure he kept Grace's arms firmly in place around his neck his arms placed a pressure on the backs of her knees and he scooped her up into his arms, leaving her giggling.

As Horatio carried her back into the apartment she snuggled into his neck.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Horatio?"

"Yep?"

"I'm still not giving up my gun, no matter how perfect you are."

He chuckled. "Fair enough."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 – Headliner.**

As Horatio and Natalia stepped out of the enclosed metal carriage of the elevator and into the press room the hustle and bustle instantly quietened. A sea of heads turned to look at them, several telephone conversations were cut abruptly short and most of the computer screens on the floor went mysteriously black.

Reporters, Horatio had found, were mystifying creatures when they weren't hounding you for an exclusive interview on the latest string of violent murders. And reporters assigned to wheedling out information for shocking exposés were even more mysterious than most. Having police in the press room was rarely a good thing for a journalist, they were usually there to further their own investigations, rather than help an individual reporter on their way to their next pay rise.

Ryan had phoned his discovery in to Horatio as soon as he'd left Erika at the Diner and had relayed the reporter's positive identification of their, until now, anonymous victim. Strangely, the name Keisha O'Neill didn't appear on any of the passes and identification cards that the team had found in the victim's locker at the Arena. Horatio had checked employment records for the Miami Sentry newspaper and had found Keisha O'Neill listed as a personal secretary to the editor. His next phone call had been to the editor of the newspaper in order to set up a quick interview for the next day, he knew that the guy wasn't likely to give them anything, but he had to try the softly, softly approach before he started nailing their asses with warrants and subpoenas for information.

"We're expected." Natalia muttered to Horatio as she watched another reporter turn the screen on his computer off in order to keep the information that it displayed secret, narrowing his eyes as he caught Natalia looking directly at him.

"Protecting their stories." Horatio shrugged as he responded. He couldn't really blame them for being a little cautious, past precedents had determined that there was a distinct lack of trust between the press and the police and Horatio had been around long enough to know that this distrust wasn't entirely misplaced on either side. The problem was that the two professions simply didn't gel together, the police wanted to keep most case information quiet until they'd apprehended their suspect, not wanting to give the criminal a head start. The press on the other hand had their own agenda, most felt it was their duty to keep the public fully informed, and if that meant trampling over a police investigation in the process then so be it.

Across the room a door opened, a man dressed in dark suit pants and a short-sleeved shirt that was open at the collar took up position in the doorway, his arms crossed and a frown creasing his face. He stood watching the newcomers for a minute or two as they stood in amongst the less than friendly reporters. Unlike other police officers who had dared to set foot in his press room though, these two were somehow different, less flustered, more confident. The woman, who in his opinion looked more like a model rather than a cop, but he could see the requisite investigative qualities as her gaze swept around the room, gathering information, taking everything in. The man…hmm, he was interesting. The observer paused as he considered the male officer with the red hair, he was more than just interesting, he was a puzzle, a conundrum that the inquisitive reporter in him wanted to pick apart. His posture was so self-assured and yet his demeanour fell far short of being arrogant. Unlike his colleague he was not scanning the room, probably having taken in and memorised all the little details when he first entered the room, instead his head was tilted down looking at his hands as he fiddled with the pair of sunglasses that he was turning over and over. Suddenly he stopped fiddling with his shades, his hands fell still and he lifted his head looking directly at the man watching from across the room as if sensing his observation. The man in the doorway was instantly startled by the crystal clarity of the officer's blue eyes, which were so bright that they were visible even from this distance. The intensity of his gaze lost none of its power over the intervening space.

Horatio looked up, catching the eye of the man watching him who seemed content to simply study him for a moment or two before curling his finger and beckoning them forward. As Horatio and Natalia entered the office the door was pushed closed behind them, the blinds that hung across the glass pulled shut, cutting out the view of the room that they had just crossed as well as the inquisitive eyes of the reporters left outside.

"James Cannon. Editor of the Miami Sentry." He held out his hand as he introduced himself and both Horatio and Natalia mirrored his action and greeted the editor in a brief handshake.

"Horatio Caine and Natalia Boa Vista, we're with the crime lab."

"Crime Lab? So not detectives then?"

"Not exactly. Why would you say that Mr Cannon?"

"Because the only reason we see the police around here is either to serve one of the reporters with a temporary restraining order because some starlet cries press harassment or to serve me with a subpoena to reveal the identity of one of our sources. We don't generally get to meet members of the crime lab on our own turf very often, so you'll excuse me if I'm a little curious as to the reason for your visit."

Horatio's lips twitched into a smile at this wary reception.

"Actually we're here to find out a little information Sir."

"About what?"

"Keisha O'Neill."

"Listen Detective…Officer…" He glanced down at Horatio's badge as he tried to find the right rank with which to address the redhead, "…Lieutenant…Caine was it? If you're sniffing around on behalf of the PD to try and find some charge or other to throw at Keisha you're wasting your time. She is a beautiful person as well as a damn fine reporter."

"So she's a reporter not your personal secretary as your staff records describe her?" Horatio smiled as his suspicions were confirmed.

"Um, well, when I say reporter, I mean, um…" Cannon was desperately trying to backtrack.

"Sir, do you have a photograph of Ms O'Neill?" Horatio interrupted the editor's bumbling response.

The question caught the editor off-guard.

"A picture? I…erm…yes, I've got one right here." He lifted a framed photograph from his desk and passed it over to the Lieutenant. "That was taken at the party to celebrate her first big scoop. That story more than doubled our circulation figures." Cannon gave up trying to persuade them that Keisha was a secretary. Horatio passed the picture over to Natalia who, after studying the image for a second, met his intense gaze and nodded.

"Mr Cannon, when was the last time you saw Ms O'Neill?"

"I'm not answering any more questions until you tell me what the hell is going on here. Why do you want to know?"

_Fair enough,_ Horatio thought.

"Mr Cannon, I'm sorry to have to inform you that Ms O'Neill's body was found this morning in Bicentennial Park. I'm afraid she was murdered."

The words had an instant effect on the editor, who stumbled back a little as if he had been dealt a physical blow. He allowed himself to fall heavily into a plush leather desk chair that was behind him. Leaning forward he held his head in his hands, massaging his temples.

"Are you sure it's her?"

"We weren't until we saw the photograph. Does Keisha have any close relatives that might be able to identify the body?"

"No. Her parents are dead and her sister emigrated to Europe a few years ago. Could I do it? She was…basically like a daughter to me."

"We would appreciate a positive identification Sir."

James Cannon studied the CSIs standing in front of him. He could see the genuine sympathy in their eyes, but the red-haired Lieutenant…there was something else behind his gaze, something more than just sympathy, was it empathy? Had this event bought back memories of the losses he had experienced in his own life? The puzzle deepened.

"Then to go back to your earlier question, no Keisha wasn't my personal secretary, she was a reporter, a damn good one too."

"Then why list her as a secretary on your employment records?" Natalia was a little confused.

"When I say she was a damn good reporter I mean it Ma'am, she didn't care who her stories upset, she went ahead and wrote them anyway, consequences be damned. Using her real name on the tagline of stories would have been a…a…"

"Death sentence." Natalia completed the comment for him.

"Mm-hmm. Employment records are so easily accessible nowadays so we thought that listing her as a secretary and getting her to publish under a pseudonym would save her going home at night and finding some nut camping out on her doorstep with a knife." Cannon sank back in his chair. "I guess it wasn't enough." There were tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

Horatio and Natalia fell into silence to allow the man a few minutes to come to terms with the information they had imparted. Horatio knew the pain and confusion that was flying around inside this man's head at the moment. When Speedle had taken a bullet at that jewellery store, as he'd seen the life drift out of his eyes Horatio had felt like he'd lost a son. Tim had been on the team since before Horatio had taken over from Megan Donner, the young CSI had looked up to him as a mentor and guardian. Yes, he knew what Cannon was feeling, he wanted to put a comforting arm around his shoulders and reassure him that it would soon feel better, but he couldn't; firstly that would cross some professional line. Cannon was, after all, still a suspect in this crime. And secondly because it was a lie, the pain that you experienced with the loss of a friend or loved one never went away, no matter how long you waited, it still smouldered in a white-hot ball in the bottom of your gut, numbing your other senses producing a constant ache throughout your body.

"You want to know what she was working on when she died." Cannon's comment was a statement rather than a question and it pulled Horatio out of his own thoughts.

"Yes Sir, we have to work on the possibility that it may be related to why she was killed."

"Listen, I didn't know what story Keisha was working on at any one time. I know you might think that's strange, but it's the truth. I trusted her to go get the story and she'd never let me down yet. I hadn't seen her for over a week."

"Was that normal?"

"Oh yes. When she was researching a story, you know; going under cover, I sometimes wouldn't hear from her for a month at a time, but one day she'd just turn up at the office, start typing frantically and would usually end up banging out something that was worthy of a damn Pulitzer."

"Could we see her desk?"

"Normally Miss, I wouldn't allow anyone associated with the police anywhere near my reporter's desks, but like I said; Keisha was like a daughter to me and I want the bastard that took her away to pay dearly for what he…or she has done. I'll get her box sent up too."

"Her box?"

"Each of the reporters have a secure box where they keep notebooks and delicate material relevant to their work. Whilst any documentation is stored in the boxes it becomes newspaper property rather than the reporters' own. It makes it a little more complex for police to gain a warrant to seize the information." He blushed a little as he revealed this. "I'll have someone fetch Keisha's. What you need to understand is that we're in uncharted waters here, I have never allowed police access to these boxes, _ever_. All I ask in return is that you treat what you find with respect and a certain degree of confidentiality."

"You have our word on that Mr Cannon."

Convinced by Horatio's heartfelt assurance Cannon leaned over and pushed a button on the intercom fixed to his desk.

"Yes Mr Cannon?"

"Mandy, will you fetch me Keisha's box from the vault please."

"Her box Sir?"

"Yes Mandy."

"But Sir…the police?"

"Just do it. I'll explain later."

--

Cannon escorted them over to a desk hidden away in one corner of the press room separate from the desks of all the other reporters. Horatio guessed that as the victim had spent so much time out of the office chasing her stories, there had been little drive to make a space for her desk amongst the crowd of other workspaces. The desk was awash with paper, scribbled notes and receipts lay in small piles, as if someone had made a brief attempt to begin tidying them but had gotten sidetracked halfway through the task. The inbox was overflowing with mail and sticky notes recording telephone messages were stuck haphazardly over the desk's remaining visible surface. Presumably when her answer machine memory was full calls were diverted back to the main newspaper switchboard. Horatio pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and gently eased a few sheets of paper to one side, revealing the answer machine. Yes, the little red led light was blinking happily, signalling a full message box.

Pinned to the walls surrounding the desk were a series of newspaper clippings, articles evidently cut straight from the Sentry's pages. Each of the articles bore the name Julia McInnery as the author.

"She wrote these?" There was something in Natalia's voice that made Horatio turn to look at her. It wasn't an obvious difference, but a subtle change of tone that only a close colleague and friend could have picked up. Was she looking paler than she had a moment ago?

"Yep, all Keisha's work. Some of the biggest stories we ever ran. You might recognise a few." The editor's chest visibly swelled with pride.

"So Miss O'Neill wrote under the pseudonym of Julia McInnery." Another false identity, this web got more tangled the more they investigated.

"Yes."

"Mr Cannon. We're going to need to take a look through Keisha's things, perhaps you'd like to take the opportunity to explain what is going on to your colleagues." Horatio inclined his head towards the reporters seated at desks across the room, some of whom looked like they might break their necks as they tried to find out what was going on. "We'll need to interview them when we're finished here, it might be better if they hear about what has happened from you."

"Hmm, you're right. I'll just…erm…" He allowed his sentence to trail off as he set his jaw into a determined line and headed off back towards the occupied desks.

As soon as Cannon had reached an acceptable distance from the CSIs, Horatio turned towards Natalia, who was still reading through one of the articles pinned to the wall.

"What's wrong?"

She knew there was no point in trying to deny the fact that something had spooked her, Horatio was just too good at his job to believe that, more than that in fact, he was too good a _friend_ to believe that.

"This." Natalia pointed towards one article in particular. The headline, which ran across the top of the section in bold print, read 'Los Silenciosos'.

"The Silent Ones." Horatio translated. He read a few phrases into the article and instantly realised what had hit a chord with his co-worker. The article dealt with the plight of the city's abused wives and the work being done by a system of women's refuges to help them stop the cycle of abuse that too many found themselves in.

_Emma (names have been changed for the security of the women involved) has just moved into this refuge, her arm has been set with metal pins and she is in constant pain. Her arm was snapped in a struggle, but not with an unfamiliar attacker who was trying to snatch her purse, he was not some stranger trying to force himself on her, quite the opposite, the man who fractured both the radius and ulna of Emma's forearm was the man she thought she could trust above all others; her husband, the man who promised in front of witnesses to love, honour and protect her. But no-one was there to protect her from him. Emma is one of the lucky ones, she has a strong will and a fiery determination, she has taken the first step on the road to reclaiming her life, a step that maybe hundreds of women in Miami alone are desperate to take, but are simply too afraid to…_

The article continued relaying the sad stories of several of the women that the author had encountered at the women's refuge and extolling the virtues of the work that the people working within these centres were doing.

"So Emma would be…?" He started the question, but he had a feeling that he already knew what the answer was going to be.

Natalia had her head tilted down, her right hand stroking the skin of her left forearm.

"Me."

Horatio didn't know a great deal about Natalia's past, but he did know that she had married an apparently good guy, who had morphed into a vicious bastard seemingly overnight. He had beaten her several times over the course of a few months, usually in places on her body that wouldn't immediately be obvious to the outside world. The beatings had become progressively more violent until he returned one night in a drunken stupor and had managed to fracture her arm so severely that the surgeons who later worked on her weren't sure if she'd regain full use of the limb. That same night, while Nick lay passed out on the couch, Natalia had shoved as many clothes as she could in a bag, taken whatever money she could find in the house and had run away from her marital hell, ending up at one of Miami's women's refuges, where volunteers took her straight to the hospital to get her arm pinned back together and where eventually she got the legal advice and support she needed to file a case of assault against her husband.

"I met her, Horatio, but when I looked at her picture I didn't remember her. I should have recognised her."

"Natalia, just think of how many people we meet in a lifetime, no-one could remember them all."

"But I should have remembered her. She spent two weeks living at the shelter. I met her on my first night there." A shiver ran up Natalia's spine despite the warmth of the office. "This article changed so much." She pointed to the framed section of newspaper print on the wall. "Because of this article so many women realised that they had a choice; that they didn't have to put up with the beatings. The refuge's intake quadrupled in the weeks after this went to print, all those women built up the courage to escape their hellish lives because of what she wrote. Not only that, donations for women's charities in the city poured in, they skyrocketed. The woman that wrote this was kind and compassionate, she did so much good. We have to catch the bastard responsible for her death H."

"We will, I promise." He placed a reassuring hand on her arm, and she looked up, seeing the fire burning behind his crystal blue eyes and knew that he meant it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – The Truth Will Set You Free.**

Cynthia Wells bounced into the AV lab, there was no other way to describe her movement, it was like a skip, but slower. Cynthia loved her job (hence the bounce), she was employed by the Miami-Dade Police Department as their in-house Questioned Document Specialist and to a lesser degree as a qualified graphologist. Her job on a day to day basic involved the analysis of handwriting samples; matching handwriting from two sources and identifying whether the samples had been made by the same person. The trained graphologist in her looked for some of the distinct characteristics which were perceivable from a suspect's handwriting; for example whether the individual was right or left handed, whether they were shy, confident, dominant or submissive. This information was less admissible as evidence in court; the results being largely subjective, but was always helpful to the CSIs investigating cases, who needed every available piece of information they could get. Little quirks in handwriting, the pressure of the pen, the slant of the letters could reveal a lot about a person. When she was a young teenager her mother had decided that if she ever wanted to get a respectable job as a secretary; a means to snap herself a rich businessman husband, she should learn to write in shorthand. Luckily for Cynthia this was where her interest in handwriting had started and she had gone on to become an expert in a number of different shorthand methods, her mother was endlessly disappointed by the fact that her daughter had chosen to enter the crime lab rather than seek employment as the personal assistant to a high powered entrepreneur. Cynthia on the other hand was quite content with the steady stream of interesting work that the crime lab provided to pique her curiosity.

Over the past few hours she had been working on Keisha O'Neill's notebook that Horatio and Natalia had bought back from the newspaper office. All the notes had been written in a particular kind of shorthand, it was a mixture between two of the most popular styles of shorthand; Gregg and Pitman, with a few quirks thrown in for good measure. It had taken a little time to separate out the different styles and translate the text, but she'd finally worked her way through the entire notebook, turning up a few interesting finds along the way and was now ready to relate her findings to Horatio's team.

Unfortunately the scanner and projector in the Questioned Documents lab that she would usually have used to relate her findings to Horatio's team was currently being fixed after some of the electrical components had spontaneously combusted the previous day. She had an inkling that it might have had something to do with the fact she'd been using the projector for seventeen hours straight, after desperately trying to unravel the secret behind an apparent suicide note written in some up to now unknown shorthand style, but she wasn't about to admit that to the technician that came to fix the machine. So now the slim scientist was heading towards the Audio Visual lab with all her files, papers and notes to present them to the team in the only other lab that had a half decent projector.

Entering the foreign territory of the AV lab Cynthia found Horatio's team already assembled, Calleigh sat in the swivel chair next to Cooper whilst the rest of the CSIs stood around behind, all of whom were so deep in conversation they didn't notice the handwriting specialist enter the lab. Cooper on the other hand turned around when he saw a movement reflected on the screen of his computer.

"Oh, hey Cynthia." He blushed a little as he greeted the petite expert. If he was being honest Dan Cooper would have to admit that he had a crush on her, actually it was a bit more than a casual crush, he was completely besotted with the woman, to the point that he usually got totally tongue-tied when she was anywhere near him.

Over the other side of the AV lab, displaying his ability to sense any potentially embarrassing romantic situation near him (kind of like a personal sonar sensitive to flirting) Eric had disentangled himself from a heated conversation with his colleagues just in time to notice how Cooper's face had flushed as Cynthia had entered, put two and two together and made a mental note to tease the easily flappable tech at a later date about his crush on the handwriting expert. That was going to be fun.

"Ah, Miss Wells, good. Have you had much luck with deciphering the notebook we left with you?" Horatio asked, smiling at her.

"You bet your ass…" she cringed inwardly, had she really just said that to the head of the crime lab? "…erm…I mean; yes, Sir." _Damn, damn, damn_. Luckily he was still smiling, in fact he seemed to be trying his hardest not to laugh, phew, that was a close call.

"Ok, well that certainly sounds promising, how about we take a look?"

"Yes Lieutenant." She began laying out photocopies of paragraphs of shorthand squiggles that had been enlarged from the original notebook onto A3 sheets. "I've taken a look at the notebook you gave me, the information is all recorded in a personal shorthand style."

"If its personal does that mean that you can't translate it without the person who wrote it being there?" Ryan asked.

"Well you'd think, but actually her personal style is simply a complex mixture of the Gregg and Pitman shorthand methods, these are the most common styles of shorthand although here and there she does lapse into the less common Paragon and Forkner styles. Your victim was a very clever woman."

"So you can tell that the subject was female?"

It was standard practice for evidence such as this to be analysed blind by experts, that meant giving technicians such as Cynthia a piece of evidence out of context, without any related case details. This meant that there was less chance of a biased result from the evidence. As such, when Horatio had dropped the notebook off for analysis he hadn't given Cynthia any background information regarding the case.

"Oh yes. Style of writing is distinctly female, a strong, confident individual, judging by the slant of the writing and the pressure on the page, although I have encountered some contradictory points in personality trait identifiers, it was as if the writer was having some sort of identity crisis, not quite sure who she was. It's difficult to explain."

"Miss Wells I believe that even you would be surprised by how accurate your description of the writer is." Horatio was always amazed by how Cynthia's analysis could usually hit the nail on the head.

"Oh good. Well anyway, I presume from the contents of the notebook that your subject is a reporter. Would you like to know what story she was working on?"

"Very much so." Everyone's anticipation was racked up a notch and several heads started to nod along as Horatio's answered.

"This paragraph here…" she held up one of the photocopied sheets she had spread out on the desk earlier, "…is a draft of the first paragraph of her story." Cynthia followed the shorthand with her finger as she translated the words in her head and read the translation out loud for the team.

"_This week heralds the return of Joe Enturba to the Miami Heat fold. Tomorrow night Enturba will walk out onto the court with his head held high, knowing that the whole city is supporting him. There was public outcry when the NBA handed Joe a fixed term disqualification from the game for a positive drug test which he always claimed had been fixed. Now, after months of undercover investigation, this 'Miami Sentry' reporter has uncovered the truth behind the scam to sully the name of one of the most decent men in basketball and leave the 'Heat' team languishing in the bottom half of the table. Recorded conversations which will be handed to police following the publishing of this article will prove Enturba's innocence and will reveal the individuals deep within the drug underworld that are responsible for this travesty of justice…"_

"To give you a brief précis of the information, your subject claims to have proof that a local gang dosed Entuba with an illegal substance, knowing that there would be a drug test performed prior to the match. With Enturba out of the squad at the last minute and their other star players out of the running because of injuries, the Heat players, originally the favourites to win the match, were drastically outgunned by the opposing team. It meant that the gang that fixed the game could bet on the opposing team to win when their bet was considered a long shot and had correspondingly high odds, knowing that just hours before the match the Heat's best player was going to be disqualified. They must've made a fortune on that game."

"Sounds like she was planning to go to press with this story the day before Enturba's first game back on the squad."

"Cynthia, is there anything in that notebook about who she was going to meet a couple of nights ago?"

"Well there are no dates attached to a lot of the notes in here, but I have a mention of a 'Robert' within the last couple of pages. Cooper have you got the mini-cam hooked up?"

"Sure." Cooper scrabbled around with wires, before extracting a small oval shaped device with a length of clear plastic tubing running from it. The team recognised it as a fibre-optic mini-camera that sent a close-up image straight to a projector. As Cooper flicked a switch the image from the camera was shone onto the large screen in front of the CSIs. The image on the screen jerked violently as Cooper nearly dropped the camera when Cynthia reached out to take it from his grasp and her hand grazed his skin lightly.

"Oops." Cooper muttered, launching himself forward to save the gadget before it hit the floor. He heard the quiet chuckle that came from Eric's direction and refused to look at him as he handed the camera over to Cynthia, more successfully this time. The red hint to his skin deepened, the blush starting at his neck and worked its way up until his whole face virtually glowed with embarrassment. If Cynthia had noticed, she made no indication, her attention now completely dedicated to the pages in front of her.

Cynthia found the reference she was looking for towards the back of the notebook and followed the text with the camera as she once again translated so the team could follow her progress through the dots and squiggles of illegible text on the projection screen mounted on the wall.

"Here. '_Meet Robert, Bicent. P. 12.50am_'." Cynthia flipped the notebook shut and laid the camera down on top of the cover when she'd finished reading it out.

"That fits with our timeframe." Calleigh said excitedly, saying out loud what the rest of the team was thinking.

"Mmm-hmm. I think we should find out who this Robert is and have a chat with him." Horatio nodded as he spoke. "We need to go and talk to the people that knew our victim, see if there was a Robert in her life. Of course if he's got something to do with her story then he might not be someone that her friends would have encountered. We're just going to have to hope that we'll get lucky and find him somewhere amongst her assumed identities."

"What's that?" Cooper was still looking at the image being projected onto the screen from the mini-camera, twisting his head around to try and make out the image until his head was nearly upside down. The picture showed the front cover of the notebook where Cynthia had laid the camera down.

"Coop, that's the notebook. You know, the one we've been looking at for the last ten minutes." Ryan said in a calm voice, evidently thinking that Cooper had finally gone mad.

"No, you idiot." Dan Cooper rolled his eyes at Ryan. "I mean what's that?" Cooper pointed to a series of markings on the cover.

Cynthia picked up the camera again and hovered over the line of squiggles.

"You mean that?"

"Yeah."

"It's more shorthand, it's actually Latin translated into shorthand. It reads 'Veritas Vos Liberabit'."

"The truth will set you free." Horatio muttered.

"Exactly, I'm impressed Lieutenant Caine, I didn't know you understood Latin." Cynthia's face showed she was suitably impressed as she turned to face the Lieutenant.

"Only a few phrases."

"I'm sorry, I'm lost. Will someone slow down and explain what just happened?" Ryan questioned his boss, not quite understanding what the Lieutenant was going on about.

"That's what it says; 'vertias vos liberabit'; the truth will set you free."

"Oh, right." Ryan still looked a little confused but decided not to pursue it further, for fear that his head might just explode.

Cooper had scrunched his eyes in concentration while Horatio was speaking, before they whipped open in wide-eyed amazement.

"Yesssss!!"

"Um, Coop, you ok?" Calleigh asked, placing a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, fine. Hang on…" Cooper started to click buttons on his keyboard before bringing up a 3D rendered image of an IPod. "You remember the IPod we found on the victim in the park?"

"Sure."

"Well, when it was logged as evidence and had been processed for fingerprints and DNA etc, I took a look at it, just standard procedure."

"Your point?" Ryan asked, impatient for Cooper to move past the preamble and explain what had got him so excited.

"I'm getting to it. When I took a look at the processor I found that the iPod memory was drastically less than it should be. I mean the model we found with the victim was a fifth generation model capable of storing 80 Gigabytes of audio and video, but when I analysed it I could only access less than one tenth of the memory. It looks like the memory has been segmented and when I tried to access the bigger section of the memory it threw out a password request. I've had it running through a password cracker programme, but you know how long those things can take to run." He shrugged.

"Ok, so why all the excitement at this Latin phrase?" Calleigh still didn't quite understand the AV tech's disjointed explanation.

"Oh yeah, well the password the iPod's asking for is nineteen letters long and the first four letters that the password cracker's revealed are 'veri'."

"You think it's Veritas Vos Liberabit?" Cynthia had caught on to where he was going with his train of thought.

"I figure it's got to be worth a try right?"

"Then let's try it." Eric stepped forward, his own anticipation growing to match the tech's.

"Hang on, I just need to pause the decoding programme while I input our code." He tapped a few more keys and the letters and numbers which had been scrolling down the screen paused. "Ok. Here we go…" He typed in the code and pressed enter with his eyes shut, hoping that this was right."

There was a brief whirring noise and the screen in front of Cooper filled with a jumble of illegible text that obviously meant something to him.

"Woohoo!!" Cooper threw his arms into the air and spun his chair around in celebration.

"I'm guessing that's a good sign." Ryan whispered to Eric.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 – Making Connections**

The previous evening when Cooper had finally managed to access, decode and filter the segmented section of Keisha's iPod memory he had found several stored audio files hidden in the password protected space. Apparently Keisha's personally upgraded media player had been improved by adding a microphone so the gadget acted as a discrete sound recorder as well as an iPod. It was clever; no-one batted an eyelid at an iPod attached to someone's belt whereas they would definitely take exception to a recognisable sound recorder, and the work had been done so artfully, so discretely that even Cooper hadn't noticed the concealed microphone. The sound files Cooper had accessed turned out to be recorded interviews all related to her latest story. Horatio had been astonished at the content that their victim had managed to capture. She had managed to talk her way into getting close to the gang that had dosed Joe Enturba, Miami Heat's star player, and had several gang members or people close to members on record laughing about how successful the plot had been. That didn't just need luck, but also required an immense amount of guts, Keisha O'Neill, he had discovered had been one gutsy lady. Horatio had worked undercover, he knew first hand what it was like to enter the lion's den, so to speak, how your stomach was endlessly leaping into your throat as you feared that with each passing moment you might let slip a comment that could blow your cover out of the water. He wondered what had happened to blow Keisha's cover.

The last recording to be retrieved from the iPod's hidden segment had turned out to be particularly explosive, at least in terms of their homicide investigation rather than the newspaper exposé. Keisha had apparently recorded her brief meeting with the mysterious Robert, scheduled for just before the estimated time of death. The recording began just a minute or so before Keisha arrived at their rendezvous point, evidenced by the sound of rustling as she crossed the park from the arena to the place where her body had been found a few hours later. The team had listened in a sombre silence as they heard the last minutes of Keisha O'Neill's life playing out from the lab's high-tech speakers. The first gunshot had come completely out of the blue and had made everyone, even Calleigh, whose ballistics loving persona was no stranger to loud bangs, jump severely. The abrupt shot was so unexpected. Keisha had been talking as the gun went off; her killer didn't even allow her to finish what she was saying. The sentence she had just embarked on was cut off sharply as the bullet penetrated her flesh. There was no way she had seen the shot coming which was, Horatio thought, at least a small blessing. Keisha's muffled, rasping breaths as she struggled to take in enough oxygen echoed around the small room. The gurgling as blood had erupted into her throat, filling her wind-pipe and effectively beginning to drown her had been horrible to listen to, the sound making Cooper feel distinctly queasy. Having processed the crime scene and read Alexx's autopsy report, the team of CSIs had been expecting the second shot less than a minute after the first, and while they jumped less at the explosion, the reality of the situation made it no less bearable. The final words that could be heard on the recording were from her killer as he stood over her. There was a cold, sharp laugh, followed by a brief comment.

"_Nosy bitch."_

The following morning, as soon as the building was accessible, Horatio had sent Ryan back to the Arena to talk with some of the employees who had worked with Keisha (or Amanda as they had known her). They had a first name to go with their killer, but it wasn't enough, they needed a positive identification of the mystery man that had ended Keisha's life. And so Ryan had taken a copy of a section of the newly uncovered sound file with him and had played a short clip of the killer's voice to Keisha's friends. He made sure that he didn't play them the section that held the bullet strikes, the last thing he needed was to freak out his interviewees before they'd given him the information that he needed. Ryan simply hoped that this Robert may have had reason to spend time at the Arena which would provide a slim chance that the other Arena employees would be able to recognise and identify the man behind the voice.

He lucked out on the first two girls he spoke to; they'd only been employed recently and hadn't met many of the other staff yet let alone anyone called Robert, so that was a bust. From that point on however, Ryan's luck changed for the better and the rest of the girls he spoke to were all able to positively identify the voice as belonging to one of the Arena employees, Robert Genero. Well, that certainly fit with the note in Keisha's notebook making reference to a 'Robert'. Finally, they'd got him.

The name floated in Ryan's head, niggling him, it sounded familiar, but he just couldn't seem to place where he'd heard it recently. Then suddenly, out of the blue it hit him; Robert Genero was the guy who owned the locker that the stash of drugs had been found in; the stash of drugs that he and Natalia had been asked to test at the scene a few days ago. Genero was the reason that they had been at the Arena on the day that Keisha's body had been found in Bicentennial Park. Ryan cursed himself for being able to forget something that important.

Ryan had immediately phoned the information in to Horatio before putting in another call to Frank Tripp in order to check on the status of the drug bust case.

The phone rang twice before a deep Texan voice sounded at the other end of the line.

"Tripp."

"Frank, it's Ryan. Can you do me a favour."

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On what you're going to bring me for lunch."

Despite the severity of the situation Ryan had laughed.

"How 'bout ribs?"

"Good choice, I'm at your service."

"The drug bust at the arena a few days ago, can you check up on the status of the case for me?"

"No problemo Wolfe boy."

Ryan could hear his slow, unsteady typing as he jabbed at the keys on his keyboard in his individual one-finger method of typing. The process was interspersed with a few 'dang's and 'oh heck's as Tripp had to start typing the search strain from scratch after making an error.

"It's not like this isn't urgent or anything Frank."

"Hold your horses, Ah'm getting there. Here we go, slow and steady gets it done."

Ryan was tempted to say something sarcastic, but stopped, reminding himself that he needed the information Frank was about to impart.

"Ok, case is still open, suspect Robert Genero did a runner and gave officers the slip. There's a bolo out for him, but no definitive sightings yet."

"Frank I need you to issue an addendum and resend that bolo with an urgent code, suspect is also wanted for the murder of Keisha O'Neill, should be considered armed and dangerous."

"Will do Wolfe. You want me to let you know when we get a hit from the bolo?"

"ASAP Frank, Horatio will want to know too."

"Gotcha."

--

Ryan's cell phone had started to ring as he'd just walked back into the MDPD building. He glanced at the caller display and found Tripp's number displayed. He flipped the phone open and lifted it to his ear.

"Don't panic Frank I didn't forget your ribs, I'm just in reception I'll be there in like two minutes."

"What? Food's not important right now…"

"Ok, who are you and what have you done with the real Frank Tripp, food's not important?"

"Stop messing around Ryan, we got a hit off the bolo. Your suspect Robert Genero has just been sighted."

Instantly Ryan was alert and regretted the casual banter. "Where?"

"Calle Ocho. Horatio's on his way out there now."

"Thanks Frank, I'm en route."

"And Ryan?"

"Yep?"

"Leave the ribs with Paula on reception, I'll come and get them later. Food's not that unimportant."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – Shoot to Kill.**

Horatio banged the heel of his fist forcefully on the door of the house, so hard in fact that the door shook in its frame with a fierce rattle that echoed through the room inside. He waited, his head tilted down, listening intently whilst at the same time transferring a radio that he held to his left hand whilst removing his handgun; his faithful Sig, from its holster with his right and readying it lest the situation require its use.

The bolo response had come from a local cop who had just finished his shift and was on his way home. He'd seen Genero walking into a small warehouse plot on Calle Oche and the bolo that had come through earlier in his shift had sprung to mind. He had called the sighting in to the dispatch desk and had found an unobtrusive spot to sit and watch the warehouse to make sure the suspect didn't leave before backup could arrive.

Horatio had already been at the scene when Ryan had arrived and was directing SWAT team members to their designated positions with whispered directions and hand movements that suggested a kind of universal sign language.

"Does anyone know if our suspect's still inside?" Horatio demanded of the group of assembled officers.

"Yes Sir. Suspect hasn't left the premises. At least not from this side of the building."

"Good job Officer…?"

"Marquez, Sir."

"Good job Officer Marquez. Any other individuals in the warehouse?"

"Unknown Sir, but I haven't seen anyone else entering or leaving."

Horatio nodded, and Marquez took a step back.

"Right then ladies and gentlemen, we know that this guy has killed at least one person, be careful and stay safe in there."

Once he was sure everyone was in position to cover all possible exits Horatio stepped up to the main door and hammered on the wooden panel. The sound was so loud that Ryan could hear it echoing around the open space inside the warehouse.

"What the hell? Lucky, is that you man? You think you could make more noise, I don't think they heard you over at the Arena." The quiet question came echoing from inside the building. Horatio hammered again. "Jeez, calm down I'm coming already. We're meant to be keeping a low profile you dumb fuck."

The officers could hear a series of clicks and scrapes as locks were undone on the other side of the door. Finally, the door started to move and Horatio saw the face of Robert Genero appear in the aperture.

"Hello Robert. MDPD, open up." Horatio's comment was growled, his voice so low that Ryan wondered if he'd actually heard the words or simply felt the bass vibrations from his boss's throat.

"Oh fuck." Genero realised too late his mistake in opening the door without checking who was there first and slammed the door closed again instantly. Horatio raised the radio he was holding and depressed the transmit button.

"Go, go, go."

All around the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood could be heard as the SWAT tem made their way into the building in a less than delicate manner.

Horatio himself dropped the radio back into a jacket pocket and took a step back before raising his foot and giving the door a sharp kick near the lock, splintering the flimsy wood and making the door crash inwards.

Horatio entered the building first, slipping round the door frame and sweeping his weapon over the dull interior space before motioning for Ryan to follow him in. A uniformed officer took up a position at the door to ensure that no-one could exit this way. A noise from the other side of a door at the far end of the room brought both CSI's guns level and pointing in the same direction. They skirted around the outside of the room, neither wanting to enter the exposed space that the centre of the room held, until they reached the door. Ryan stood to one side, his back pressed up against the dusty wall while Horatio steadied his gun with one hand and placed his other on the door handle, ready to open it. He looked up and met Ryan's eyes. Ryan lifted three fingers to indicate they would go through on the count of three, he dropped all fingers to a fist before lifting one finger again, then two fingers, finally when the third finger was once again lifted Horatio yanked open the door and the pair rolled around the frame into the opening, guns pointed ready to fire if a threat presented itself. There was nothing, just another empty room. Then suddenly, following a noise from elsewhere in the building which Horatio presumed to be the SWAT officers conducting their search, there was movement from behind one of the large cardboard boxes that lay in piles around the room as their suspect bolted and exited through yet another door. Horatio growled softly, he was quickly becoming tired of this game of cat and mouse.

The same thing happened time and time again, each time the CSIs got that little bit closer to their quarry until finally they entered a room and found themselves faced with a panic-stricken suspect. He was breathing fast and hard, his head spinning around looking for an escape from this room, but there was none. He had cornered himself and the only way out was now blocked by the two armed CSIs that had entered the room shortly after he had.

"Mr Genero, we're with the Miami-Dade Police Department. I want you to lie down on the ground, arms outstretched." Horatio spoke clearly so there could be no mistaking his words, when there was no movement from Gerero to submit to his order he repeated the direction. "On the floor, now!" But instead of complying their suspect still remained motionless, staring at them. Then his gaze lowered to a box that lay nearby. Horatio followed his gaze and found a Taurus revolver sitting on top of the box, within Genero's reach.

"Don't do it son."

Still there was no motion other than the slightest change in the direction of Genero's gaze as he looked back and forth between the officers and the gun, trying to gauge his chances.

"Don't do it." Horatio repeated.

Suddenly Genero shot out a hand to grab the weapon, having finally made his choice, and bought it up to point at the officers, cocking the gun with his thumb as he did so. Horatio didn't hesitate, he pulled the trigger on his police issue firearm and pumped two bullets into the suspect's chest. Ryan who didn't have a clear shot from his position behind Horatio watched as the projectiles from his boss's weapon hit Genero's body and sent him stumbling backwards with the force of the hit.

The guy was dead before he hit the ground. Although Horatio, following procedures, walked over to the body, kicking Genero's gun out of the way as he went, and knelt down, placing two fingers on his neck trying to find a pulse. Nothing. Horatio pushed himself back up, as he looked down at his hand he found it covered in blood where he had managed to graze the red pool that was gradually creeping across the floor as the blood flowed from the corpse.

--

Standing outside the warehouse a few minutes later, allowing the aftermath of the shooting wash over him, Horatio pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. As he raised it, ready to dial a number he could still see the colouring of Genero's blood on his hand where it tinted the skin red. He paused, examining his skin for a moment; more blood on his hands, another kill in a long line of kills. Horatio was, at heart, a religious man and the thought often came to him when the darkness descended as to whether he would ever be able to fully atone for his actions in this life. Whether in his attempt to repent for his past sins he was merely creating a whole new set of transgressions that he would need to atone for in the future.

Finally he shook his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts and back to the present, dialling in a number and pressing send.

The phone rang out for three rings before it was answered.

"Miami Sentry, the voice of the city. James Cannon, Senior Editor speaking how can I help?"

"Mr Cannon, this is Lt Horatio Caine."

"Lieutenant, how is the investigation going?" Cannon's voice had become a little more guarded as his caller identified himself, a natural reaction to an inbuilt suspicion of the police.

"Actually that's why I'm calling, we've made a lot of progress and as of approximately three minutes ago have closed the case. How would you like to get an exclusive?" He let the sentence hang for a few seconds before he continued, allowing the news to sink in to the Editor's brain. "We also know what the story Keisha was working on when she died, I thought it might be a nice tribute to run her story and the events surrounding her life and death."

"A kind of memorial edition of the Sentry?"

"Exactly, an edition dedicated to a woman who endlessly chased the truth."

"I believe that would be a fitting tribute to my Keisha." He paused, "Lieutenant, her last story, was it big?"

"Mr Cannon, I guarantee that when you go to press her story will be the lead item on news bulletins nationwide within hours. There won't be anyone in Miami that won't read it in the first few hours and I'm willing to bet a pretty huge percentage of the country will follow."

"Won't this jeopardise any prosecution?" The confusion in Cannon's voice was evident. His experience of the police was tangled up in secrecy, where the phrase 'no comment' was a standard response. And yet here was a Lieutenant no less, offering to give up all the details and suggesting he run it as a front page story.

"There will be no formal prosecution for Miss O'Neill's murder. I'll explain everything when I meet you."

"You want to come down to the Sentry building, or d'you want me to come down to MDPD?" There was an excitement in Cannon's voice that had replaced the suspicion and confusion. But Horatio knew that it wasn't as simple as a big story that would boost the paper's sales, there was something else in the editor's voice, the promise of vindication and validation of a reporter's struggle for the truth; the possibility of a timeless memorial to a woman who he had come to think of as a daughter.

"I'd rather this was done on neutral territory Mr Cannon. Officially I'm not allowed to go giving interviews to the press, but this is one story that needs to be told. There's a diner a few blocks down from the MDPD building; it's called Ruffins, you know it?"

"Hell yeah, best food in the whole of Miami. When would you like to meet?"

"No time like the present Mr Cannon. Are you busy now?"

"I could never be too busy to make sure Keisha gets her one last big story." Horatio could hear material rustling as he pulled back a shirt sleeve, probably to take a look at his watch. "But Ruffins is going to be packed at this time of day, we'll never get in."

"The owner's a friend, she'll squeeze us in somewhere."

"Lieutenant, I have a feeling you've made a lot of friends over your career." He chuckled a little.

"And fair few enemies too, Mr Cannon. See you in ten minutes?"

"I'll be there in five."

Horatio snapped his phone shut before walking towards his Hummer which was parked just a few metres down the street. IAB would want to talk to him about his part in the officer involved shooting, but that would just have to wait. Right now he needed to make sure that Keisha O'Neill's life and death were not in vain, tomorrow her story would doubtless grace the front page of the Sentry and all of Miami would know her name.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 – Scars: New and Old.**

Horatio quietly and methodically cleared his desk of a day's accumulated detritus and pulled his jacket from the back of his office chair. He checked his watch, it was early, but he'd booked a couple of hours off and had briefed Calleigh to intercept all but the most vital summonses. He had sat through an interview with Internal Affairs and the Officer Involved Shooting team and had recounted his actions leading up to the moment that he had been forced to pull the trigger and relieve Robert Genero of his life. Horatio had been sent back to his office to await their decision and the team had then summoned Ryan to sit in the hot seat. Evidently the younger CSI's account had matched perfectly with Horatio's as just an hour or so later Horatio's gun had been returned to him along with OIS's decision that his actions were to be deemed a good kill.

His cell phone rang briefly and Horatio picked it up and flipped open the cover, noting that the caller display was showing Calleigh's number down in the ballistics lab.

"Hey Cal."

"Well hey there handsome, I just wanted to catch you before you left for the day. I've just run the gun that we got from Robert Genero at the warehouse; the striations match perfectly, it's the same gun that was used to shoot Keisha O'Neill, our murdered reporter. Just thought you'd want to know."

"Thanks Cal, I appreciate it."

"No problem, H. See you tomorrow."

Luckily, besides the usual circus that IAB bought with it, the day had been relatively quiet, no huge cases had presented themselves and as Horatio slipped out of the MDPD building and into the fierce glare of the mid-afternoon sun he breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted today was to be called to a complex crime scene and leave Grace to wonder where he was.

On his way home from the lab Horatio pulled the Hummer to the side of the road and climbed out, he walked around to the newspaper dispensers that sat at the edge of the sidewalk and dropped a coin into the slot. Hearing the mechanism release with a click he reached inside and picked out a copy of the Miami Sentry. He glanced around at the front pages of the other newspapers in dispensers and found that they too were now covering the Keisha O'Neill murder, alongside the NBA's decision to expunge Enturba's drug record and make a public apology in the light of evidence gathered by the murdered reporter. The early edition of the Sentry had been the talk of the city and the printing presses had needed to be restarted mid-morning to produce an extended run when, for the first time in its history, the _Sentry_ sold every copy it had sent to news stands throughout the city. Later editions of Miami's other newspapers had pushed their front page stories back and had followed the Sentry's lead, bringing the amazing story of how a reporter was killed to silence the truth to the population.

Horatio glanced down at the newspaper in his hand. For the first time since it was first published the Sentry's iconic emblem of a gladiator figure set into silhouette by the red orb of the setting sun in the background was absent from the front page. Instead a black band provided the backdrop for the newspaper's name and headline. Traditions had been pushed aside out of respect, no-one could question the fact that this was an edition published by a newspaper in mourning. The headline that dominated the page read _'The Price of Truth.'_ And underneath were displayed photographs of Sentry reporter Keisha O'Neill and Miami Heat player Joe Enturba. Horatio nodded as he read. It was well worded and written with respect and admiration. He glanced at the reporter's tagline and was pleased to find that James Cannon himself had penned the article.

'_Three days ago the body of Miami Sentry reporter Keisha O'Neill was discovered in Bicentennial Park. This is her story…'_

--

Grace accosted Horatio as soon as he opened the door to the apartment, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him instantly into a deep, if a little surprised, kiss.

"What was that for?"

"Do I need an excuse to kiss my fiancée?"

"Um no, but usually you wait for me to get into the apartment first." He grinned.

She studied his face closely.

"You forgot, didn't you?" Her eyes were slightly narrowed now.

"Evidently so. Forgot what?"

"I can't believe you forgot." Grace unwrapped her arms from around his neck and stood in front of him looking a little upset. "You remember _everything_, how could you forget?" She walked away a few paces and Horatio couldn't keep his face straight any longer and broke into a grin. He walked up behind her and brought his arms around her sides, holding an small yet ornately wrapped package in front of her.

"Happy anniversary." He whispered in her ear, before placing a kiss on her neck.

"Oh Horatio, you didn't forget." She turned around in his arms, giving him a quick punch to the shoulder.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"For making me think you'd forgotten."

"How on earth could I forget that a year ago today I stood in a parking lot with police sirens blaring and the occasional whiff of a fresh gun shot victim on the air and asked you to be my wife?"

"Good point Lieutenant, it was rather memorable." She laughed as she put her arms around his neck once again and snuggled close to him.

"As much as I'd love to stay like this forever, unless you want me to smell like a dumpster when we go out to eat I'd better go and take a shower." Horatio dipped his head to peer down at her as he spoke.

"I hadn't noticed, but now you mention it…" Grace pinched her nose in a theatrical manner, pretending that he smelt really bad, before pushing him in the direction of the bathroom.

A little later when she heard the water from the shower start to run, Grace tiptoed into the bathroom and decided to join him under the jet of hot water. She watched him briefly, standing with his hands braced on the tiled wall, allowing the water to fall on his head and neck before running down his back. The water had turned his usually bright red hair more of a shade of russet brown and as she watched he straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, making it look as if he'd gelled his hair into spikes before the water flattened it down again. She silently navigated her way into the shower cubicle having already shed her own clothes and felt him jump as she slipped her hands over the skin of his waist.

It was a spontaneous moment like this when she had first seen the scars on Horatio's back. Long strips of scarred tissue marked his otherwise freckled back, reminders of long-healed wounds. She had run a finger down the marks and felt him tense, not through pain, but insecurity and vulnerability. Afterwards, when they had stepped out of the shower he had sat her down and told her why his flesh was criss-crossed with old scars. Caught in a crossfire during his first few weeks on patrol in New York, Horatio had found himself standing in no-mans land between two of the most powerful gangs in the city. Bullets had peppered the space surrounding the fresh cop, filling the air with a humming noise that could have been mistaken for a swarm of angry bees. Several passing projectiles had perforated the material of his uniform and grazed the skin of his back, gouging channels in the flesh. A couple of bullets had embedded themselves deep in the muscle covering his shoulder and had bought him down gasping in agony. He'd survived, but only just, he'd lost a massive amount of blood, his extraction from the scene having had to wait until the gun battle had died down and the perpetrators crawled back under their rocks. The doctors had removed the slugs and patched him up as best they could but even their best efforts had left welts burning across his skin, welts that had faded over time but had still left the strips of scarred tissue that now served as a permanent visual reminder of his days spent walking the beat.

Now Grace leant her head down and kissed the healed scars on his back, wetting her lips with the water that sat on Horatio's skin. He turned to face her, a smile set onto his features. All she could see were his clear blue eyes, and as they both leaned forward they lost themselves in a deep embrace.

--

They'd eaten a light afternoon meal at Grace's favourite restaurant; Giraldi's, the Italian place down near the beach. Rather than go straight back to the Hummer which was parked in a nearby parking lot after they'd finished their meal they'd taken a detour, wandering slowly along the beach. The thin heels on Grace's shoes had continually sunk into the fine white sand, making it difficult for her to walk so she'd slipped the shoes off and walked along the beach barefoot allowing her to feel the tiny grains moving between her toes, carrying the shoes in one hand, her other hand entwined with Horatio's. At one point she broke away, running a few steps ahead and spinning around, her arms outstretched, head tilted up to allow the sun's warming rays to fall on her face. Horatio watched her and listened to her laughter, endlessly amazed by her free spirit. When she turned and found him watching her she grinned and walked back towards him, her hips swaying exaggeratedly before grabbing his jacket with her free hand and pulling him close to her. She lay her head on his shoulder and felt him wrap his arms around her waist.

"Thank-you." He heard her whisper.

"What for?"

"For making me this happy." She replied in a voice that suggested an essence of _'Duh'_, as if he should have known what she was talking about. She laughed, and Horatio found that he too was pulled into laughter.

In revenge he tightened his grasp around her waist and lifted her, swinging her around until she squealed. "Horatio! Put me down!"

"Nope." He continued, laughing.

Finally he was forced to put her down, and she staggered as she touched down onto the ground, her legs having gone weak. She stumbled into him and the pair collapsed into the sand in a heap, laughing loudly and sending a spray of sand grains flying up around them.

They lay there for a minute or two, Horatio lying with his legs outstretched, feet crossed at the ankles, one arm under his head like a pillow the other arm resting over Grace's abdomen as she lay with the upper part of her body resting on his chest. His thumb was slowly tracing a circle over the soft skin of her shoulder.

Eventually she pushed herself up and Horatio used the arm that had rested over her shoulders to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up at her.

"C'mon old man. Time to go home."

That sounded so good when she said it; 'home', so good in fact that he nearly didn't register the 'old man' comment.

"Hey! Less of the 'old' please." He said indignantly as the comment finally wiggled its way into his brain.

She laughed and dropped into a mock curtsey.

"Why certainly Sir. And what adjective would Sir like me to use instead? 'Young', 'virile' or 'incredibly handsome' perhaps?"

"Any and all of the aforementioned would be perfect." He grinned.

"Alright then, c'mon handsome, time to go home. How's that?"

"I thought it was meant to be _incredibly_ handsome, but much better."

Grace offered him a hand, he took it and heaved himself up out of the sand.

As they came closer to the parking lot Horatio started to get a feeling that something was wrong. It was akin to the feeling you got when someone was following you, but you couldn't see anyone around. Horatio's years spent walking the beat as a uniformed cop and then his subsequent years on the bomb squad and as a CSI had left him with heightened senses and he had learned over the years to trust his gut feelings. Now he was sure they were being followed despite the fact that he couldn't see who their tail might be. Horatio changed the pace that they were walking at every now and again, walking slowly and then speeding up, taking a zig-zag path, rather than a straightforward route to the Hummer. Finally he caught sight of a figure out of the corner of his eye, he was wearing jeans, a dark t-shirt and long jacket, which immediately sent alarm bells ringing in Horatio's mind; a long, thick jacket, in Miami? No way was this guy just out for an afternoon stroll, there was something wrong here. Whenever Horatio moved quicker this man also quickened his pace, always staying a set distance behind them.

"Horatio, what…?" Grace was confused by Horatio's changing pace and apparently meandering path. She hadn't noticed the man behind them, but she could see the serious look on Horatio's face that told her that this sudden change in mood was not a game. He put a finger to his lips and shook his head sharply to stop her speaking, and her question was instantly silenced, illustrating her ultimate trust in the man next to her.

Horatio glanced back, the sight that he caught in the side mirror of the nearest vehicle set his heart racing. The guy tailing them pulled back his jacket and was withdrawing an automatic weapon. As they turned another sharp corner Horatio pushed Grace down behind a people carrier and carried on walking, hoping to draw this man's attention as far away from Grace as possible. It seemed to work because just a few seconds later the stranger with the gun walked right past where Grace was crouched in the shadows cast by the large vehicle. They were only a few metres away from the Hummer now, Horatio wondered if he'd be able to radio in a distress signal and get a few uniforms sent over from the shopping centre that sat just across the street, but he doubted he'd get the chance.

The next few seconds played in slow-motion. Horatio saw the stranger lifting the gun, preparing to fire and instantly, in a reflex action he went for his own firearm; thankful that he wore his badge and gun even when he was out for a date. The next milliseconds made Horatio think of lightening, he saw the series of flashes before he heard the staccato explosions of the bullets leaving the gun barrel in a spray of gunfire. It was a wild spray of fire, no effort wasted on aiming the weapon, just many, many bullets fired in Horatio's general direction, hoping that a few might hit their mark.

Horatio grunted in pain as one solitary projectile spun a true course and impacted with the soft flesh of his side. He could feel it tearing into his body. The impact threw him backwards so that his head momentarily connected with the side of the Hummer and everything went black…


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 – Death and Diversions.**

'_BANG'_

_The shot made the air shudder. The shockwave left in the wake of the projectile caused a sound like the crack of a whip, only far more intense. Horatio felt the vibrations from the shot more than heard it, and as the bullet found its target he felt a sharp pain in his heart as if it had been him who was hit. He saw Grace go down, hitting the ground hard as she dropped her weapon and clutched impotently at her chest, her face contorted into an expression of shock more than pain. He saw the brief flash of light as the sun caught the silver of her necklace, and heard her ragged breathing as she fought for air._

_--_

_Two Minutes Earlier._

The perp had fired a shower of bullets from the automatic weapon in Horatio's direction. One bullet had slammed into the soft flesh of the Lieutenant's side, throwing him backwards, making him grunt in pain. His head had hit a corner of the crime lab's vehicle and had momentarily knocked him unconscious, although he regained his consciousness just a few seconds later. He lay on the ground for a second or two, dazed by the impact, before lifting a hand to grab onto the Hummer's radiator grille to start to pull himself back up.

As he raised his head Horatio was horrified by what he could see. Even in his currently hazy state Horatio could see what Grace was about to attempt, he wanted to shout at her, to tell her not to try it, that it was a damn foolish thing to do, that he could handle this, but that would have alerted the shooter to her presence and her intentions and he couldn't do that. He saw her pull her gun out of her purse, of course; just like him, she was never without her weapon. She had evidently hoped that the shooter's attention was directed enough towards Horatio that she would be able to cross the gap between the cars to enable her to get a clean shot at him before he even knew she was there.

She had been wrong.

As soon as she had unfurled herself from her crouched position the crazed perp, who seemed to be able to see out of the back of his own head (although in hindsight Horatio realised he had probably caught sight of her movement in the window of one of the nearby cars) and who Horatio could now see had enough weapons strapped to his body to make Rambo feel vulnerable, swung around and fired a shot directly at her.

'_BANG'. _

It struck her squarely in the chest, the momentum of the bullet forcing her to stumble backwards for a couple of paces before she dropped to the floor, blood pulsing instantly from the wound. Horatio abandoned his shelter behind the Hummer and stood in the open, feeling the pain from the shot he had taken to his side increase exponentially with the effort of raising himself to his feet. He knew he was presenting himself as an easy target, but after what he had just seen, he didn't care, besides, although he opened himself up to attack he also had a much clearer line of fire at the psycho gunman. The shooter, evidently registering movement from his direction turned, once again pointing his weapon in Horatio's direction. Ignoring the pain that was radiating from the bullet strike in his side Horatio brandished his Sig-Sauer 9mm pistol in front of him and squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times and saw the corresponding bullet strikes explode in clouds of red mist as they hit their marks and ploughed deep into the guy's chest; the deadly triple-hit instantly relieving him of his life.

The threat of their attacker neutralized, Horatio jogged over to the figure of the fallen woman, grabbing his cell phone from his pocket as he ran, speed-dialling the police department's dispatch desk.

"This is Lieutenant Caine. I have shots fired, one victim needs medical assistance urgently, gun shot wound to the chest. I need a rescue unit, _NOW_." He gave a brief précis of his location and held the phone to his ear long enough to determine that an ambulance was en-route before shoving the handset back inside his jacket and dropping to one knee as he reached her side. He placed two fingers on her throat trying to locate a pulse, and jumped when she took a rattling breath and coughed, a trickle of blood painting a delicate red line over her pale skin as it gradually made its way down her chin.

"H…Horatio." His name was spoken in a barely audible whisper, more bubbles of blood being produced with each syllable. He quickly assessed her condition, the blood from her mouth was bright red and frothy, that wasn't a good sign; it meant that her lungs had been damaged by the bullet strike.

"Shhh, don't talk. It's going to be ok." He cupped one hand around her head, cushioning it against the hard asphalt surface. His other hand stroking the soft skin of her cheek.

"I…I can't…" But she didn't finish her sentence, a wheezy gasp cut it short. Her eyes flickered and she began to drift into unconsciousness. Her head lolled to one side.

"No, no, no." His brain sparked a memory that he had hidden deep in his scared psyche and as he looked down on the lifeless body of his fiancée it was almost like watching two different scenes overlaid. In the background there was Grace's fallen figure, but playing over the top of that image was a scene from a jewellery store, a scene that he had watched in his dreams far too often. This mental cinemascope twisted his vision to his left where he saw the figure of Tim Speedle reaching for his gun, and then as his past self reached for his own weapon there was the sound of shots and Horatio saw Speedle's body fall to the ground. Several years ago Horatio had knelt over the body of his colleague, in much the same way as he was now leaning helplessly over the body of his lover. It was all happening again.

"Grace? Oh God, Grace?" He gently lowered her head down to the pavement and rocked back, his arms crossed on one knee, face lined with emotional pain. "Oh Grace I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I'm sorry." Horatio leant forward and picked up Grace's still warm, yet apparently lifeless, left hand.

He paused and then grasped her wrist a little tighter. He was certain he could feel it, it wasn't just a figment of his imagination, there was a pulse, weak, but a pulse all the same. As he continued to check her wrist the rhythm continued to fade until it was barely detectable. In just a few seconds Horatio was certain that it would vanish altogether.

Now Horatio pushed his guilt and pain to one side and concentrated on the practicalities at hand, forcing himself to become a detached member of the emergency service as he had been trained to be. He shifted position a little, leaning directly over her, assessing the damage.

If the bullet had, as he suspected, perforated her lung then he needed to deal with the sucking chest wound that it was presenting, air could seep in between the chest wall and the lungs which would impair the lung's ability to inflate. He needed to try and make some sort of one way valve so that air could be forced out of the wound and not allowed to get back in, that would help her breathing. He looked around desperately, spotted Grace's bag lying not far away and reached over, pulling it back towards him. He tipped the bag up, emptying the contents onto the asphalt surface. A small plastic bag, made from the kind of thick plastic that high-end retailers used to set their status apart from more run-of-the-mill stores, it wasn't exactly sterile, but it would just have to do. Next he found a roll of glittery tape, the sort designed for gift-wrap, tore off three strips and fastened the bag over the wound on three sides. One one-way valve complete. The idea was that as air exited from the wound the plastic was forced away from her skin slightly to allow the gas to escape, but as soon as the air tried to get back in the plastic stuck to the wound and stopped its re-entry.

Satisfied with his DIY valve, Horatio now checked for breathing; there was nothing. He changed his stance, getting some leverage by planting both knees on the hard concrete surface. In the distance he could hear the faint, yet reassuring sound of sirens, the noise getting louder with each second that passed. Horatio placed the heel of one hand just above the lower tip of her breastbone, interlacing the fingers of his other hand and locking out his elbows he pushed downwards; thirty compressions to her chest at a depth of four to five centimetres. There was a horrible crunching noise and Horatio was sure that he felt one of Grace's ribs crack with the pressure, but rather a broken rib than not breathing he thought. Horatio tilted Grace's head back, pinching her nose and brought his mouth down to meet hers, breathing out, forcing air into her lungs. Flicking his eyes down as he breathed out he saw Grace's chest raise. He turned his head away and counted for a beat before turning back and repeating his actions. Another thirty compressions followed before moving back to her head and giving her two more breaths; performing mouth-to-mouth once more.

"C'mon Grace, you can do it. Don't you dare leave me. Don't you _dare_." Tears began to well up in Horatio's eyes and trickle down the soft skin of his cheek, leaving a wet trail. He shook his head sharply, chastising himself for a moment of weakness just when he needed to be strong for the woman he loved.

He continued performing CPR, Horatio had lost track of how long he'd been doing it when he was roughly pushed aside.

"No."

He wasn't going to let anyone stop him from helping her, and pushed back, scrambling to regain the rhythm. Once again he was pushed away from her and this time he was aware that someone was shouting at him. The fog in his brain cleared for a moment, which was long enough for him to recognise that man who was trying to move him away was wearing a shirt with the word 'Paramedic' on it. He looked around trying to find where this newcomer had appeared from and found that his concentration on the task at hand had meant that he had even been completely unaware when the ambulance, with strobing lights and wailing sirens had screeched to a halt within a few metres of where he knelt. Finally understanding, Horatio moved away, giving the paramedics some space to perform their, hopefully, life-saving actions, but remained close enough that he could touch the form of the unconscious woman if he wanted to. Horatio surreptitiously pulled the material of his jacket forward to cover his own wound, if they knew he'd been shot too they might divert their attention away from Grace and there was no way he was going to let that happen. He watched them through bleary eyes before wiping the tears away. He knew that news of the situation would spread through the MDPD like wildfire and would soon, if it hadn't already, come to the attention of his team. With an innocent member of the public as well as an armed suspect shot Horatio knew that IAB would be taking a very keen interest in this case, and he'd be damned if he was going to let Rick Stetler see him in this state.

Sure enough, within a few minutes of the ambulance arriving at the scene Horatio looked up and found a crime scene Hummer screaming around the corner followed by an unmarked sedan. The bulky Humvee turned the sharp angle at such speed Horatio was surprised that all the wheels remained in contact with the ground. Not wanting to leave Grace, but realising that he would need to liase with his team, Horatio got to his feet and walked in the direction of the approaching vehicle.

Calleigh was the first to jump down from the first Hummer as they came to a halt. She ran over to the slightly shell-shocked Lieutenant, closely followed by Eric, Natalia and Ryan.

"Horatio! Are you ok? Police scanner said officer involved shooting, three involved, one fatality, one critical." Calleigh's voice was anxious as her eyes swept over her boss's figure trying to identify any wounds or injuries. Her eyes widened when she saw the blood oozing through the material of his shirt. "Oh God, you're hurt."

"Just a scratch, I'm neither the fatality nor the critical Cal." He inclined his head in the direction of where the ambulance crew were still working feverishly on Grace.

"Oh no," her hand jumped to her mouth as Calleigh considered the possibilities, "Grace? Is she…?" The question died on her lips, not wanting to finish her sentence, fearful of the answer she might receive and the repercussions it might have on the man standing in front of her.

"She's the critical one. I put three rounds in the perp's chest, he's the fatality." Seeing the members of his team around him brought him out of his descent into complete despair and made his brain clear a little.

A clatter from behind the group caused them to turn around. The paramedics were beginning to load Grace, now strapped securely to a stretcher, into the back of the ambulance.

"Caine!" Rick Stetler had finally managed to get his vehicle under control after being forced to undertake some extreme evasive driving in order to avoid the swerving Hummer that had forced him from his intended route, and had parked some distance away from the scene. Now he was striding towards the group, who could see even from this distance that his face was quickly taking on the complexion of a radioactive beetroot.

Calleigh identified a course of action. Leaning towards Ryan she whispered sharply.

"Ryan, I need you to run interference. Go."

Instantly Ryan sprang to life, sprinting away from the group, in the opposite direction from the ambulance. When he had reached what he determined to be an adequate distance he hunched over, pretending to study something on the ground in amongst two wooden packing crates.

"Sergeant Stetler!" Ryan's cry stopped the IAB man dead in his tracks. Spinning to face Ryan he barked a quick, irritable question.

"What?"

"Sergeant I have something here. You're going to want to see this." Ryan's face was fixed in a severe expression, and Stetler's head flicked back and forth between Horatio and Ryan, clearly torn between two possible courses of action. His first impulse was to ignore everything else and viciously berate the man who had stolen the promotion he had so desperately wanted, for allowing a civilian to be hurt. The fact that he had to call Horatio 'Lieutenant', burned like acid in his throat every time he uttered it. But Stetler was, at heart, a cop like any other and the evidence always came first. So he shelved his feelings of hatred towards Horatio for a few minutes, deciding to deal with Wolfe's summons as a priority.

Calleigh, seeing Stetler veering off towards Ryan, gave a quick smile and turned back to Horatio.

"Quick, go."

"What?"

"Horatio you have to go with Grace. If there's one person she'll fight to stay alive for it's you. Stetler will keep you here for hours, just when she needs you the most. Go!"

And Horatio understood. Calleigh had managed to get Stetler off his case for just long enough for him to do what was important; be with the woman he loved. In the distance he could already hear Ryan jabbering away at the IAB agent.

"…I don't know where it's gone, I swear it was here just a second ago, saw it shining, thought it was a shell casing. Oh well, I guess it must've been a bug or something."

Horatio smiled. "Calleigh, I…"

"No time, you're welcome, now _GO_!"

"My weapon…three shots." He handed her the firearm that he removed from his hip holster and pointed in the direction of the dead criminal, indicating that he had shot the guy three times. "You'll need to process…"

"I know. Now will you go already? And don't go keeping the fact that you've been shot a secret." She said knowingly as she took his weapon, giving him a gentle shove and Horatio took off in the direction of the ambulance.

Horatio's long strides bought him to the doors of the vehicle just as the medics were about to close them, the look on his face and a flash of his badge was enough to make them stand back and allow the Lieutenant to climb inside. Before the doors snapped closed Horatio caught a glimpse of his team. Calleigh, her face sombre, was talking with Natalia while Eric stood to one side, his eyes apparently closed and his hand grasped tightly around something at his throat. Horatio knew that Delko wore a small medallion adorned with the image of St Michael, the patron saint of police officers, which had been given to him by his mother when he had first joined the police force. Horatio knew as he watched the Cuban-American grasp this charm in his fist that he was offering up a prayer for the life of a friend, helping in the best way a man with faith possibly can.

Further in the distance Horatio saw the figure of Rick Stetler turn back to the group of CSIs, finally realising that Ryan's call had been a well timed diversion. Behind the back of the IAB man Ryan ripped off a smart salute in Horatio's direction, a grin on his face. And Horatio couldn't help but smile in response.

"CAINE!" Stetler's furious bellow was the last thing Horatio heard before the doors finally closed and the sirens began to wail again, heralding the ambulance's departure en-route to the nearest trauma centre.

--

Horatio ran after the team of surgeons who had met the ambulance at the doors of the hospital, following the gurney that held Grace through the maze of corridors. He had spoken to her all the way to the hospital, whispering anything he could think of, just so long as she could hear his voice. He was sure that when he'd related Calleigh's plan to get rid of Stetler allowing him to get into the ambulance that a tiny smile had appeared on her face, although it was probably just wishful thinking on his part. The paramedics had informed him that she was critical, that she'd need to be taken straight into surgery when she reached the hospital to repair any internal damage the bullet had done, but that her condition seemed to be stabilising, which was about the best they could hope for at the moment. A plastic oxygen mask covered most of Grace's beautiful face and various wires linked her to monitors, recording blood-pressure, heart beat and various other measurements. He was starting to feel a little woozy now, blood was still oozing from his own wound, but he still hadn't said anything, still fearful that they might turn much needed attention away from Grace. The blood was gradually soaking through the material of his trousers now, his jacket wouldn't be able to cover the evidence for much longer.

Now, as the medical team pushed the gurney through a set of doors Horatio tried to follow and his progress was impeded by a stocky woman dressed in light-blue scrubs, her mahogany brown hair pulled into such a tight bun that it made the skin at the edges of her forehead stretch a little, and even in the desperate situation Horatio couldn't help but wonder if this was her version of a poor-man's face-lift.

"You can't go into trauma one." The woman held a hand out that connected with Horatio's chest as he tried to push forward and he was surprised with her strength.

"But I'm…"

"You can't go into the trauma room." She reiterated, as if maybe he hadn't heard the first time.

Horatio could see a new approach was needed, he pulled one side of his jacket back to reveal the shining metal of his police badge. Careful to keep his own wound on the other side of his body well concealed.

"I'm with the police."

"Honey, I don't care if you're the damn President. You can't go into the trauma room." Now he had come to a halt, the woman no longer held out a hand, but instead crossed her arms in front of her chest, suggesting that this was not a woman who was about to change her mind. Horatio felt his body sag.

"She's my fiancée." He whispered.

"Listen, I understand you want to be near your fiancée, but there's only one way anyone gets into trauma, and that's on a gurney." Her voice had softened as soon as he'd spoken the word fiancée, but there was a commanding tone to her voice that suggested her statement of denied access still held true.

He felt helpless, but in just a few moments that thought wouldn't be bothering him any more. Finally the loss of blood from Horatio's wound took it's toll, and he collapsed forward, too weak to fight the light-headedness any more.

"Yep, that'd about do it." The woman in the light-blue scrubs muttered as she knelt down, pulling back his jacket, hissing when she saw the amount of blood he'd lost. "Someone get me a damn gurney, _NOW_, this guy's going into cardiac arrest." Her yells echoed down the corridor and bought a gaggle of medical staff running to her side. "The lengths some people will go to to get into the trauma room, well honey, it looks like you're gonna get to go in after all."

Over the next minutes and seconds Horatio drifted in and out of consciousness seeing everything as a series of snapshots flashed briefly in front of his eyes.

"Grace…" The word was barely a whisper that died on his lips as he descended into darkness, the black void finally consuming him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 – While You Were Sleeping.**

_Two Days Later_

Calleigh jumped a little as consciousness flooded back into her brain. In the few seconds following waking a panic spread through her brain as she tried to remember where the heck she was. Then it came back to her, Horatio. _Oh Jeez,_ she thought, her whole body ached like crazy. Slowly her memory dripped back, she had visited Horatio in the hospital, he'd been declared stable and had been moved from the ICU. Room 317, that's where she was, she must've fallen asleep at his bedside. _Well that'll teach you for sleeping in such an awkward position_, all her muscles were screaming at her. She wondered what had woken her from her slumber.

The hand that she had held just before she's fallen into the comforting blackness of a dreamless sleep; Horatio's hand, was no longer in her grip and suddenly she became aware of the lightest of pressure on her head, a gentle, stroking motion.

She tilted her head up and looked directly into Horatio's shockingly blue eyes and the weight of the world fell away from her heart.

"Hey stranger," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the lack of use. He continued to move his hand, gently stroking Calleigh's long, blonde hair.

"Well hey there handsome. How're you feeling?"

"Oh, pretty much like I got hit by a bus, you?" Despite the rasping voice, there was a jovial tone to his speech, and Calleigh was relieved to see that her friend and mentor had not been dramatically changed by his injury.

"So much better for seeing you awake."

He smiled. Suddenly a shadow passed behind his eyes, making his expression change from the light smile into a deep frown. Calleigh guessed that another part of his memory from the shooting had just returned.

"Grace?" He spoke this word stronger than his previous ones, casting his eyes around, desperately trying to locate her.

"Horatio, sweetheart, listen to me. She was really badly hurt…"

"How bad?" Horatio interrupted her, a panic lacing his voice. "Is she…?"

"No, she's not dead." Calleigh reassured him hurriedly. "The bullet perforated her lung, ricocheted off a rib and nicked the superior vena-cava. There was a lot of internal bleeding. The surgeons worked on her for hours after she came in, it was touch and go, but they think she's going to pull through, she's still unconscious though. The doctors did tell me that your bit of first aid at the scene probably saved her life though, you just can't help being a hero can you?

Horatio ignored the compliment. "I have to see her." He tried to shift in the bed, "Ouch." He gave a grunt of pain as a sharp, stabbing feeling flew down his side.

Calleigh placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down to the mattress.

"Lie still, or you're going to pull your stitches out. You might be a hero but you're not Superman y'know, you didn't escape unscathed."

He ignored her, trying once again to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position, and once again failed as the pain made him give out a long moan.

"Horatio, lie still. I'll handcuff you to the damn bed if I have to." _Hmm_, she thought idly to herself; _that is most definitely not a phrase I'd ever envisioned saying to Horatio_. She shook the thought out of her mind, trying not to grin.

The pain having exhausted him, he followed her command this time, staying still. Although he was determined that he would push through the pain to go and find Grace as soon as Calleigh had gone. He had to see her, and a little bit of pain wasn't going to stop him. The young ballistics expert gave him a look that contained the suggestion that she knew exactly what he was planning, and a warning that he'd better rethink his intentions.

In order to divert her attention he tried to change the topic of conversation.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"Couple of days, give or take a few hours."

He nodded.

"Well, I guess I'd better go and tell Eric, Ryan and Natalia that you're awake and being a pain in the butt again." She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'm glad you're ok, H."

"Thanks Cal."

He managed a weak smile and waited until Calleigh had left the room and disappeared from sight before he tried pushing himself up from the bed again, this time, to accompany the stabbing pain in his side Horatio found a cold, metallic feeling on his wrist and, looking down, he discovered that Calleigh had come good with her threat and had in fact handcuffed him to the frame of the bed.

"What the…Calleigh! Come back here and take these off!"

There was a laugh from outside the room and Calleigh poked her head back around the door.

"I knew you'd try and get up as soon as I left Horatio, you can't say I didn't warn you. If you won't stay where you are voluntarily then I'm gonna damn well force you to." She waggled a finger in his direction, as if scolding a child.

"Calleigh, c'mon. I won't try and get up, ok?"

"Nice try handsome, but I'm not buying it. I'm giving the keys to the nurses, they'll let you out only when you promise not to get up, and only if they believe you mean it. I'll see you later."

He heard her footsteps growing fainter as she walked down the hall, the heels on her boots clacking sharply on the floor. He couldn't believe that she was actually going to leave him here, cuffed to the bed.

But she did.

Horatio lay there in the intervening silence, monstrous thoughts ricocheting around his mind; _what if, what if, what if?_ He was always so certain about whatever he did, he was the one who could provide the answers and comfort those around him, without that ability, that strength of mind, he felt lost. It felt as if a shadow had fallen over him and for the first time in a long time he turned his head so that no-one could see his face and succumbed to the desperation, allowing hot tears to stream down his face and drip steadily onto the pillow.

It was in that position that Horatio awoke what must have been a few hours later, he wasn't entirely sure what time it was as they'd taken his watch from him when he was admitted. As consciousness floated back to his mind he kept his eyes shut, hoping and praying that it was all just a bad dream, but the faint sound of beeping heart monitors and the clinical smell of disinfectant told him that it was, in fact, true. A few seconds later he heard a quiet squeak as the door to his room was pushed open and a shuffling of feet as someone entered. Horatio remained still; not wanting anyone to see him with red, puffy eyes, and when he found out who his visitor was, he was extremely glad he had feigned sleep. The newcomer stood still for a few seconds regarding Horatio's supposedly sleeping form, before quietly clearing their throat.

"Caine?"

Horatio recognised the gruff male voice instantly. Stetler. He'd been shot and gone into cardiac arrest, couldn't IAB wait for a few days to lecture him? Suddenly a surge of anger welled up inside him, he was tempted to twist around and give the rat an earful, but he held his tongue, biting back the mountain of jibes he sorely wanted to send in the Sergeant's direction. Partly because he didn't particularly want to get into a shouting match in the middle of a hospital, and partly because he knew he wouldn't be able to turn his body quickly enough without enduring a mountain of pain from the wound in his side.

Rick Stetler had been a thorn in Horatio's side for many years now. Ever since Horatio had been awarded the title of Lieutenant along with the position of head of the crime lab rather than Stetler, the IAB agent seemed to have made it his personal goal to plague Horatio and his team. Following that, Horatio believed that Rick was still resentful of him for his relationship with Yelina Salas. She had been a detective with the MDPD and had been married to Horatio's brother, Raymond. The two had been comfortable in each other's company and if Horatio really searched his heart would admit that over time he had fallen in love with her. He would never act upon his feelings, however, believing that as his brother's widow she was 'out of bounds', untouchable in the face of societal moral taboos. Stetler had no such qualms or ethical quandaries to overcome, and had made a concerted effort to woo the Brazilian beauty, the relationship had ended disastrously, with Rick allowing his anger and resentment at Yelina's continued friendship with Horatio to get the better of him, and doing what he'd never done before, hitting a woman. The Internal Affairs agent and the CSI supervisor had barely spoken since that day, except to deal with the absolute necessities of work and to trade barely concealed insults.

Now though, believing no-one could hear him, Stetler had none of his usual bluster about him. He sighed deeply and sank into the chair that was placed by Horatio's bedside, the same one that Calleigh had vacated hours earlier.

"What the hell were you thinking Caine? Getting yourself and a civilian shot? Of all the idiotic, foolhardy things to do."

There were a million things that Horatio wanted to shout back at him, first and foremost in his mind was; how was he supposed to know some psycho was going to start shooting at them in the parking lot? It wasn't as if he was omniscient. But something cut through his thoughts, Stetler was speaking again, but this time his voice wasn't in his usual confrontational tone, this time it seemed almost caring.

"…dammit Caine, life just wouldn't be nearly as interesting if I didn't have you to plague. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't there…I don't know what 'Lina would do." It was the first time that Horatio had heard Rick refer to Yelina by a pet-name, and he was surprised by the sorrow and pain in his voice. Could Rick Stetler actually be a good guy? Well, perhaps not a 'good' guy exactly, he had after all stooped to the level of striking a woman, but not quite as nasty as he'd come to believe? The thought was contrary to everything that Horatio knew, and if he hadn't already been trying to remain silent he was certain this revelation would have rendered him speechless.

There was a rustling of fabric and Horatio guessed that Rick had just sat forward in the chair, probably leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Sometimes, Horatio, sometimes I wonder if this job's really worth it. Perhaps I should just quit and go play the stock market, or sell real estate or something. This isn't what I joined the police for, I didn't work my ass off in the academy to join the Rat Squad, I wanted to be out there catching the bad guys, getting the scum of the Earth off the streets, not sitting behind a desk, pushing papers around, occasionally investigating a suspicious fellow officer. I know, I know IAB does an important job, but…" His words faded until he was silent for a while. "You know I envy you Caine, it's not easy for me to admit that, and there's no way in hell I'd tell you if you were awake, but you got the promotion I sought, the woman I love dreamt of you and not me all the time we were together, your team respects you and every day you get to do the job I wanted to do. You have the life that I should have had." Again he lapsed into silence, which was this time interrupted by the brief chirruping of Stetler's cell phone.

"Damn it." Horatio could hear him fumbling in his pockets, before opening the phone with a quiet 'click'. Presumably it was a text message as Stetler didn't speak, instead giving an irritated grumble under his breath.

"Well, looks like I've gotta go. I was only meant to be stopping by to tell you that in the light of the evidence OIS has cleared you, deemed it a necessary shoot and a good kill..."

OIS, the Officer Involved Shooting team, were a team of agents linked to Internal Affairs. They investigated all officer involved shootings, validating necessary weapon discharges and passing information to IAB to press charges for those actions it deemed uncalled for. Horatio had been investigated by the team on the numerous occasions that he'd had to shoot to kill and each time had been cleared.

"…and to give you something back."

Horatio heard Rick open the draw by the side of his bed, place something inside and then close and lock it. He leaned over and placed the key from the drawer in Horatio's hand and closed his fingers around it.

"I guess I'll let one of your team know about the OIS result, they'll tell you about it when you wake up. Get well Horatio."

And then he was gone.

Horatio waited for what he deemed long enough for Rick to get far enough down the corridor before opening his eyes cautiously and slowly turning in the bed. His stitches still ached as he moved but it didn't seem to hurt as much, whether they'd upped his medication or he was just getting used to the pain he wasn't entirely sure.

He leaned over and, using the key that Stetler had placed in the palm of his hand, unlocked the bedside cabinet. Inside he found his police issue firearm, safely enclosed in its holster. This was presumably what Rick had returned to him. His gun which he had left with Calleigh at the scene would have been processed through ballistics and matched to the slugs that Alexx would have pulled out of the perp. The bullets that the medical teams would have pulled from himself and Grace would also have been processed and presumably matched to one of the many weapons that the shooter had been carrying. The results from all of this would have had to be passed to OIS who would have made the determination that Stetler had been talking about. The final stage of the process was to inform the officer involved whether the shoot was to be deemed necessary or not and if a positive outcome, as in this case, the firearm could then be returned to its licensed owner.

It was, however, the object that he found nestled beside his police issue firearm that caught his attention; the gold Lieutenant's badge caught the glare from the artificial strip lighting in the hospital room making the shield glow with a yellow aura. Horatio guessed that the nurses who had removed his street clothes and redressed him in the medical gown that he was now wearing in order to prep him for surgery had safely stored the badge away and thoughtfully made sure that it was moved with him to the private room when he was deemed fit enough to leave the intensive care unit. Horatio retrieved the shield from the drawer, carefully locking it again afterwards to ensure his weapon was safely stored away from prying eyes. He cradled the piece of metal in his hand, feeling its reassuring weight, before rubbing the pads of his thumbs over the raised embellishments on the front, thinking as he did so, that a little bit of honesty really was an enlightening thing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 – Demons.**

Eventually the nurses relented and used the keys that Calleigh had left with them to unlock the cuffs, but not before making him promise that he'd stay in bed. Calleigh had told them that if he promised he could be trusted, that Horatio Caine never broke his promises. Besides, Horatio had already earned himself one, very vocal, scolding from the nurse in charge of his case after he'd tried to bribe two of the hospital porters to go and buy him a hacksaw to free himself from his bonds, and he wasn't stupid enough to risk that kind of tongue lashing again. The porters had gone and told the nurses what he was trying to do. _Huh_, Horatio had thought, _so much for comradeship_.

Any time he managed to grasp onto anything positive it drained through his fingers, until all that surrounded him was a hopeless sense of despair. If Grace couldn't be right by his side then he didn't want to recover, there would be no point if she wasn't there to greet him with a soft 'good morning' whenever he woke up, and send him off to a gentle slumber with a kiss every night. He had already lost one beautiful woman in his life to a callous shooter, he didn't want to lose another. He was certain that it would take the last of his resolve, and he knew if he had to watch as Grace's coffin lowered into the ground he would be a broken man. There would be no chance that he could stay in Miami any more, the city would finally have taken his very soul.

--

When Calleigh returned to the hospital that evening with the rest of the team in tow, it was to find the Lieutenant lying with his face away from the door, apparently in a deep sleep. Not wanting to wake their boss from his much needed rest they left their gifts and cards on the table next to the door and crept away, vowing to return the next chance they got.

"Officer Duquesne? Uh, Miss?" Calleigh turned around at the sound of her name and the nurse who had called to her beckoned for her to return. "Can I speak with you for a moment Ma'am?"

"You guys go on ahead, I'll catch up with you in a little while." She said, turning to her colleagues briefly.

The nurse, whose name badge identified her as Alisha, sat down on one of the moulded plastic seats that lined the hallway and motioned for Calleigh to join her.

"Is something wrong? Is he getting worse?" Calleigh's heart had started racing. Was it possible that there had been complications with his injury? Was he perhaps not simply sleeping, but had slipped into a coma? She knew that these possibilities were unlikely, but in that split second doubt encroached on her thoughts.

"No, no, he's doing fine. But I'm worried about how he's dealing with this psychologically."

"Horatio?" Calleigh laughed. "He's the sanest and strongest person I know. He can deal with anything."

"Well, we would expect him to be a little perkier by now. The sedation from the operation to remove the bullet should have been fully expunged from his system, yet he's not alert. Besides, we've been monitoring him, and although the stats from the monitors show he's awake he seems to be feigning sleep. It's like he doesn't want to talk to anyone."

Calleigh nodded slowly a frown bringing little creases to her forehead.

"Would you mind waiting for a second while I go in and see him?"

"Sure, no problem. There's always paperwork I could be doing."

"And don't I know it." Calleigh chuckled. It seemed that no matter what the profession, paperwork was always a burden.

The blonde CSI quietly slid into Horatio's hospital room once again, she tiptoed quietly around the bed, careful that the heels on her shoes wouldn't make a sound, now that she could see his face she barely recognised the man, oh his features were still the same, but the expression, even in sleep, whether feigned or real, was one completely foreign to Horatio. His expression spoke of fear and helplessness, and Calleigh's heart broke a little to see him like that. She could see the wet patch on the pillow where his tears had soaked through. She'd never seen Horatio cry, _never_, not even when they'd buried Marisol, she didn't doubt that in the privacy of his own home he'd cried, but otherwise it seemed to be Horatio's self-appointed mission to be strong for everyone around him. And now she understood why he was feigning sleep, anyone who saw him would know that his spirit was on the verge of breaking, and he wouldn't let them see him as he battled his demons, in his time of weakness. She wondered if she'd gone too far with using the cuffs earlier, but quickly reminded herself that it was probably the only way, other than further sedating the man, that he would stay in his bed for at least a few more hours to allow his stitches to at least begin to heal.

"Oh, Horatio…" She found it impossible to say any more as tears pricked at her own eyes. Instead she flicked a few strands of red hair from his face and stroked his head gently.

Walking back out of the room, Calleigh took a deep breath, regaining her composure and once again located the nurse.

"I think I understand why he doesn't want to talk to anyone. But there's one person that I know he'll want to talk to…"

--

Barely an hour later, Horatio was roused by a firm shaking at his shoulder. For once he was genuinely asleep. He had heard Calleigh come in earlier, had heard the emotion resonating in her voice and had felt cowardly when he didn't open his eyes. He could have, no, _should have_, wrapped his arms around her until she'd told him what was wrong and then he could have made it better. He hated this new side to him, but he couldn't let her see he'd been crying. "_Damn stubborn ass_," he'd whispered to himself. "_Stupid, stubborn ass_." And there was something else starting to whisper in the back of his mind too, it was saying "_Coward_."

"Wake up sunshine. We're goin' on a little trip." The pitch of the voice oscillated up and down in a sing-song manner and was followed by another shake to his shoulder.

He recognised the voice and when he opened his eyes he saw the woman who had stood in his way of entering the trauma room when Grace had first been bought into the hospital.

"You remember me honey?" She evidently saw the flicker of recognition in Horatio's expression. "Good, then y'know I don't stand for no messin'. I been here nigh on ten years, and you're the first one that's got past me into that trauma room, and that's only 'cause you were goin' into cardiac arrest." She chuckled. "Well, if I remember rightly you were named Horatio. Horatio, my name's Margaret, although most people around here just call me the Pitbull. It's on account of my sweet and loving nature." She laughed at her own joke, and Horatio couldn't help but smile too. "Well that's better, a bit of movement, I damn near thought you'd gone into a coma with your eyes open. You were a lot more vocal before you passed out."

"Sorry."

"Ah heck honey s'no reason to be sorry. If you'd got a face as looks like that guy," she pointed out of the door, and Horatio caught a glance of one of the hospital porters, "_then_ you should be sorry. Now he's a one man argument why plastic surgery should be available on health insurance." She turned to the door. "Hey," she whistled shrilly, "bus-boy, you gonna bring that wheelchair in here, or am I gonna have to carry this guy?"

The porter who had been standing outside glared at her as he walked into the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. He left it and walked out again without another word. Well, that wasn't strictly true, Horatio definitely heard him whisper _'Bitch'_ as he left.

"Oh, dang it, now he's gone and let loose with the truth of why they call me Pitbull."

They both laughed. Horatio couldn't help but feel like the shadow on his heart was a little less dense when she was talking.

"So where exactly are we going on our roadtrip?" Horatio asked after the nurse had helped manoeuvre him into the wheelchair.

"Where do we ever take anyone honey, tests, tests and more tests." Horatio hung his head again, his buoyed mood suddenly descending, and he began studying his hands in his lap.

"What sort of tests?"

"Oh well this one's kinda unique to you, honey. It's a response test. To see how ya react to certain stimuli."

"Oh."

"Well don't you sound too thrilled now." She ended her statement with a hearty chuckle.

There was less chatter as Margaret manoeuvred his chair through the hallways, humming quietly to herself. Finally she pushed him through a doorway and into a room.

"Well there y'go honey this is our destination. I'll come check ya in a while."

Horatio looked up and was surprised to find himself in a private room, rather than a suite with any apparent medical machinery to run tests. A figure lay in the bed in front of him, blankets pulled up to just underneath the patient's shoulders. He glanced up to the head of the bed and instantly recognised the subject's face.

"Grace." Suddenly, in the time it took to blink, the dark cloud that had attached itself firmly to his outlook evaporated, forced to vanish by the sheer joy that leapt in his heart at the sight of his fiancée.

Horatio twisted in the chair, ignoring the intense pain in his side and caught hold of the nurse's hand before she could walk away.

"Thank-you."

Even Margaret, used to the range of emotions that patients and their family members bought with them, was surprised by the look of intense sincerity that lit his eyes as he spoke.

"You're welcome honey, but it's not me you have to thank, that should go to officer Duquesne. It was her that persuaded your doctor that it would speed your recovery and probably improve Miss Turner's prognosis too."

"Well, thank-you anyway Margaret."

"Hey, it's the Pitbull remember, I don't want you going around destroying the grumpy, bad-tempered reputation I been building up these past ten years." She winked and strode out of the room. Horatio heard her as she got half way down the corridor, loudly berating the cleaner for leaving a mop in the way.

So he had Calleigh to thank for this visit, he made a mental note to buy her some flowers when he got his independence back, but then realised that flowers weren't really Calleigh's thing. _What could he get her? A gun? Erm, no, she had way too many of those already and besides, guns didn't seem to fit into the category of 'thank-you present'. Oh well, flowers would just have to do, he seemed to remember that tulips were her favourite_.

He turned his attention to the patient in the bed by his side. Her face was ashen. Tubes linked her up to a ventilator and wires attached to sticky pads on her chest connected her to an electronic monitor. Horatio reached for her hand, and held it, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. Her skin was a little clammy and a less than healthy colour, but he could finally reach out and touch her, which made all the difference in the world. He doubted that if he'd been asked at that moment how he felt that he would be able to put his feelings into words.

"Hey Gracie. Sorry it's taken me a little while to get here, but I was a little tied up…actually…I was handcuffed." He described exactly what had happened, and this time revelled in the humour of the situation. He was so happy to just see her again that his mood had increased ten-fold. There was only one moment when Horatio felt a little despair creeping in, when he softly kissed her on the cheek. He desperately wanted her to waken with that brief contact, like sleeping beauty awakened by the kiss of her Prince, he hoped her eyes would flicker and open, but they didn't.

"Please don't leave me Gracie." He whispered in a desperate voice.

He knew that there was no proof that people could hear what you were saying to them whilst they were unconscious, but he felt that he had to give it his best shot, just in case in her deepest of unconscious thoughts she might recognise his voice. So he talked about anything and everything. Even completing a crossword in a three week old newspaper that he'd found shoved in the bedside cabinet. He spoke the words to the clues out loud, as if conferring with his unconscious companion before answering the clues himself. Finally only one clue was left on the grid and Horatio didn't have any idea what the answer was.

"Hmm, ok, 'American portrait photographer born in 1954 in Glen Ridge, New Jersey. Primarily known for her conceptual self-portraits.' Well, now y'see what we could really use here is a professional photographer. I bet they'd know the answer to that one. Oh hey, aren't you a professional photographer?" He looked over at Grace as if expecting her to sit bolt upright and deliver the correct answer. "Well I guess you're not as smart as you're always letting me think you are. I guess I'll have to get someone to Google the answer for me." He chuckled.

In the midst of this odd, one-sided conversation the door opened and the nurse stood in the opening, one hand resting on her hip the other waggling a finger in Horatio's direction.

"Ok then Horatio, time to get you back to your own room. If I'd known you'd just been teasing Miss Turner all the time you've been here I would've kicked your butt out hours ago."

"Y'know, this wheelchair's really comfortable, I'm fine just staying here."

"Oh, not a chance Lieutenant, you _both_ need your rest. " He started to turn his puppy-dog expression on her. "And don't even think of trying that on me, 'cause it don't work." She bought her hands up to rest on her hips. "Now don't make me get uncaring on your ass, it's not in my professional nature."

Horatio chuckled and held up his hands in a mock surrender.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 – The Prince's Perfect Plaything.**

When Horatio returned to Grace's bedside the next morning it was under his own momentum, having decided that he no longer needed the wheelchair to get around he had hobbled slowly down the corridors, his progress followed by the nurse, whom Horatio could hear muttering the occasional phrase which included terms such as _'damn stubborn fool…rip his stitches…tsk'_

Entering Grace's room he allowed himself to collapse into the chair set beside her bed, but waited for the nurse to leave before groaning and taking a quick glance down to make sure none of his stitches had popped open with the exertion. _Damn that hurts_, he thought. But all thoughts of pain vanished entirely when he looked over at his companion, he found that the tube that had linked her to the respirator had now been replaced by a nasal cannula. Apparently her condition had improved to the point that she now only needed a minimum amount of help with her breathing. His heart soared, that was a great sign.

--

Horatio had managed to scrounge a book from one of the nurses, it was a trashy love story, boy meets girl, boy hits his head and gets amnesia, girl tries to win him back. He had to admit that it was complete tripe and was surprised that anyone would actually have secured a publishing contract for such drivel, but it was also strangely compelling, as if now he'd read the first page he had to go on. Besides it was, after all, something to make sure that he was constantly talking, endlessly hoping that the sound of his voice would filter through even the deepest of sleeps and jumpstart her mind into action. Beyond that, it stopped him dwelling on any less positive possibilities and sinking any further into hopelessness.

He had reached a particularly candid section of the book and Horatio had fallen silent, refusing to read it out loud, but curious just how descriptive this author was going to be about the characters' sexual acrobatics.

"Well don't stop now, you've just got to the good bit." The comment was whispered, and Horatio couldn't quite make out the actual words but snapped his head around nevertheless to see who had managed to sneak up on him, whilst at the same time trying to stuff the small paperback novel down the side of the chair to hide it, embarrassed that anyone would have caught him reading such trash. But as he turned around , there was no-one there, apart from himself and the unconscious form of his fiancée the room was deserted.

"No dummy, over here."

He didn't even dare turn his head back for fear that it was all part of some elaborate illusion. But when he finally turned back towards the bed it was to find Grace with her eyes mostly open, smiling at him. Her skin still had its sickly pallor, but her eyes had lost none of their sparkle. He stared, open mouthed and then surreptitiously pinched himself, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming this.

"Grace!" Horatio quickly pushed himself out of the chair into a standing position and this time didn't even register the pain from his wound.

"Horatio." She shifted a little in the bed, trying to pull herself into a sitting position and groaned with the associated pain. "Oh dear Lord. What in the name of all that is Holy…?" She put her hand to her chest as a response to the pain that shot through her nerve cells, exploding in a veritable fireworks display in her brain.

"Yeah, it kinda stings a bit doesn't it?"

"Stings a bit? _Stings a bit?_ Are you nuts? It's agony." She winced again. "Hey smartass, quit laughing. This is not the time to be laughing."

"How long have you been awake?" Horatio managed to stop chuckling long enough to ask the question although the grin remained firmly planted on his face. There was nothing in the world that was going to wipe that smile off his face at this moment.

"Oh, a while," she responded cryptically.

"So why didn't you say anything?"

"Well it was such a novelty to hear the great and very manly Lieutenant Horatio Caine reciting the prose from 'The Prince's Perfect Plaything' or whatever trashy book you're reading. Who knew that the head of the crime lab was a fan of the romance genre?" She laughed at him as he blushed a bight red. "Just wait until Calleigh and Eric find out."

"Don't even think about it."

"What's it worth to keep quiet?"

"Awake just a few minutes and already committing a misdemeanour? You're on form." He arched an eyebrow in her direction and saw her brow furrow in response.

"What misdemeanour?"

"Trying to blackmail a police officer is a crime Miss Turner." He gave a chuckle which once again turned into a full laugh as he saw a smile rise to Grace's face.

It was at this moment when Margaret, the feisty guard of the trauma room, or the 'Pitbull' as other hospital employees referred to her, walked through the door.

"Horatio Caine! What are you doing out of your chair again? Didn't I tell you this morning that I'd only let you walk down here so long as you stayed put in the chair for the rest of the day?" She waggled her finger exuberantly in time with her words. "Honestly, I think Miss Duquesne's right to chain you down." She looked in surprise at the now conscious figure of Grace lying in the bed, and did a double-take. "Oh so I've got two of you to contend with now have I?" She smiled and turned back to face Horatio. "Well, I guess that this merits a brief 'out of chair experience'." Then, turning to Grace once more, "I hope you're not as much trouble as he is, I don't think I've ever encountered a patient that's more of a pain in the ass."

"Sounds about right," Grace muttered so that Horatio could hear her, craning her neck to see around Margaret who had moved in to check the stats being produced by the many machines that were hooked up to Grace.

Horatio crossed his arms and his face took on a mock indignant expression as Grace spoke.

"But I wouldn't have him any other way." She added quickly, sniggering at his reaction.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17 – Red's Return.**

Horatio stood tall in the early morning light and carefully pulled his dark coloured suit jacket over his shoulders, easing the densely woven material down over his arms until all the wrinkles were gone and the fabric lay neat and smooth. For the first few moments the suit felt a little confining, his usual attire over the past couple of weeks had been either a hospital gown or jeans and t-shirt when he'd finally been discharged, so this morning the formality of a shirt and jacket felt odd. It only took him a few minutes to settle himself into the familiarity of the garb though and he soon felt comfortable again, like he was reacquainting himself with his second skin.

Walking outside briefly, he leaned his hands on the railing that surrounded the balcony outside his apartment, tilting his head down to look at the stunning vista that swept out in front of him, he took a deep breath and savoured the fresh wind that blew in off the ocean. Bringing his mind back to the present moment, Horatio pushed himself back, away from the railing and into his home, taking a few steps into the bedroom. Opening a drawer in the bedside table he retrieved his firearm from its resting place within and snapped open the catch that held the gun's magazine in place, checking that it was full of ammunition. It wasn't really something that he needed to verify, over the past few days he'd checked that everything was in order about a hundred times and it was hardly possible for bullets to just disappear out of his gun without him either firing the thing or physically removing them, but still he looked, and found exactly what he'd expected to find; that the magazine was full. With a practiced move, marked by a sharp '_click'_, he deftly snapped the ammunition back into its housing and made sure that the safety mechanism was engaged before shoving the weapon into the holster that was already attached to his belt, and fastening the thin strap over the grip that kept the weapon firmly in place. Satisfied that the gun was secure, Horatio reached into the drawer again and this time pulled out something smaller, something that glinted in the first rays of sunlight which were just starting to appear through the window. He ran his fingers over the gold-coloured metallic surface, taking a moment to fully appreciate the sight of his police badge before slipping it onto his belt on the opposite side of his body to where he'd stored his gun just moments ago.

It had been just over a week since he'd been discharged from the hospital, well, 'discharged' was a slight misnomer, the word suggested a voluntary decision on the part of the medical staff when what had in fact happened was that Horatio had pestered the doctors, nurses and anyone else that might have a say in keeping him confined to the hospital until their resolve to keep him under observation had been worn down. Pester power was one thing that Horatio had learned from his niece and nephew, and he couldn't help himself grinning a little when he realised that he was employing the same techniques to get himself sent home that he'd seen Ray Junior and Madison use when they really wanted ice-cream or didn't want to go to bed on time.

The doctor in charge of his case, Dr Louisa Roberts; a petite woman with shoulder-length brunette hair and a constantly serious expression that was only contradicted by a mischievous twinkle in her eye, had advised him to take at least a month off from work to give his body a chance to recharge and recover. It wasn't so much the primary damage done by the bullet which was the problem, that had been pretty straight-forward apparently, just requiring removal and a bit of patching up. According to Dr Roberts the subsequent cardiac arrest, caused by his own 'irritating stubbornness' and determination to ensure Grace had been treated first had caused far more widespread problems. Not to mention the fact that Horatio had rarely slept for more than four hours a night for as long as he could remember. While he was able to mask the signs of exhaustion on the surface, the doctor had told him, the underlying effects were as clear as day, no matter how many cups of coffee he drank to keep himself appearing chirpy. The doctor also warned him that if he continued this exhausting pace of life then eventually no medical intervention would be able to fix the damage he was doing to his body by pushing himself too hard.

Horatio's mind drifted to his last meeting with the doctor and the words with which she had left him. _"Lieutenant, if you want to make it to retirement without having a heart-attack, then I suggest that you slow down a little. But then again if you insist on putting yourself in dangerous situations and getting shot then that may not be so much of a concern for you anyway_." The doctor had shrugged her shoulders as she turned to leave, but upon reaching the door she turned back to face her patient. _"Don't take this the wrong way, Lieutenant, but I hope I don't see you again, at least not as a patient. Try to take care of yourself, Miami needs a guardian angel and I have a sneaking suspicion that you're it." _And with those as her parting words she had slipped from the room leaving Horatio to sink into deep thought.

Horatio had come home with the express intention of following the doctors' orders and taking it easy for a whole month, but within a day or two of being home he'd started to get that nagging feeling that he should be doing something, that fidgety anxious energy that told him he should be doing more than just sitting at home healing, he could heal while he was at work after all. Of course he'd spent the most part of every free day back at Jackson Memorial with Grace, but in those few hours when he was back in his apartment he got fidgety again, antsy, like he needed to stimulate his body and brain and just _do_ something. So just a few days after having been discharged, with the instructions to take some time to recuperate, Horatio had decided that it was time to climb back into the saddle again and get back to work.

What he hadn't factored into the return to work equation was the formidable force presented by Calleigh Duquesne. She'd been waiting for him at the main entrance into the MDPD building when he'd shown up bright and early, ready for a new shift. Her arms were crossed firmly, her lips pursed, setting her face into an expression that Horatio had only seen a few times before, when dealing with the most stubborn of suspects. The twinkle in her eye had been replaced by flames; a fiery determination that Horatio had a horrible feeling was going to be directed towards him. How on earth she knew he was intending to come back today goodness only knew, and with that look on her face he wasn't about to ask, he'd decided some time ago that Calleigh possessed some slightly freaky psychic powers. Despite the broad smile he'd plastered on his face and the casual tone he'd greeted her with as he tried to sidestep the obstacle that she presented he hadn't been able to make any further progress.

"Oh no you don't buddy." A hand had shot out and pressed firmly against his chest stopping him from any forward motion and then the hand had been withdrawn only for Calleigh to fall into a hands-on-hips stance, which was scarily reminiscent of the red-head's own adamant posture. Calleigh made it perfectly clear with little more than a glare that no matter what he did, how he tried to charm her, that she wasn't about to be swayed in her decision and there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of him starting back to work today. Eventually, stopping short of having a yelling match with the blonde ballistics expert (a match that Horatio had no doubt Calleigh would win anyway) the Lieutenant had given up and returned home, Calleigh's instructions to wait another week and see how he felt and then she might consider letting him back in the building, but not a day sooner ringing in his ears.

So today, which heralded the end of that Calleigh-imposed waiting period, he'd decided that he simply couldn't stay away from the lab any longer. He'd risen before the sun, pulled on a suit and in his final moments of preparation had replaced the gun and badge that were as much a part of his normal appearance as his red hair, and suddenly everything had seemed right. He hadn't realised it until he'd hooked the badge onto his belt that in the time he'd been away from work there had been something wrong, something missing. Now, as he prepared to go back to work he realised what that empty feeling in his chest had been caused by, as he placed one hand on the weapon strapped securely to his side he realised that he had missed the familiar weight of the firearm and the comforting presence of his badge. Horatio suddenly recognised that for a short time he had lost his identity. He knew that he was more than just another cop, clearing cases for the monthly pay-check and that there were other facets to his life; he was a friend, an uncle, a mentor, a lover (his heart tugged a little as he thought of Grace still confined to her hospital bed), but this; he looked at the badge reflected in the mirror, this was who he was more than anything else; the protector of a city, responsible for all the souls of those people who lived within the limits of the metropolis. What had the doctor called him? The city's guardian angel? Yes, perhaps that was right. Truth was he had been born to do this work. Horatio believed in the will of God and had little doubt that somewhere along the way God had intended for him to end up in Miami, finding the voices of those who could no longer speak for themselves, to tell their stories and to bring them some measure of justice. So it was with an immense sense of duty and just a little pride that Horatio slipped the shades, that until this point had been hanging around his neck, over his eyes to protect him from the steady glare of the sun which was now starting its unstoppable climb into the sky, closed the door of his apartment behind him and headed out into the city; his city.

--

As he pulled the Hummer into the parking space outside the lab Horatio felt an anxious anticipation start to build in his stomach, it was something akin to nervous butterflies, except the feeling was stronger, as if someone had replaced the butterflies with something a little more feisty; like angry bees for example. It was ridiculous, he was nervous about walking back into his own lab, the place was like a home to him, the last place he expected to feel jumpy, yet he couldn't help it. Horatio took a deep breath as he climbed out of the vehicle, ran a hand over the material of his suit to once again straighten out any creases and took a few steps towards the main entrance. On the other side of the glass doors he saw Calleigh observing him with narrowed eyes, judging his fitness as an expert trainer would assess the condition of a thoroughbred racehorse after a period of lameness or a bout of colic, so this short walk was to be his audition, well so be it. He slipped the sunglasses away from his eyes and hooked the frames around his neck, keeping his eyes forward, not quite daring to take a look towards Calleigh. As he neared, Calleigh grabbed the handle of one of the doors and pulled it inwards, opening the door for him.

"Um, thank-you Ma'am." He said, a little uncertain, trying to judge whether Calleigh's welcoming gesture was genuine or something more sinister. He had to shake his head to stop the phrase 'come into my parlour said the spider to the fly' running around and had the weirdest image in his head that she was going to let him get so far through the door and then allow it to shut on his face, laugh and then run off.

"You're welcome." She replied with just a hint of a smile.

"Er…so does this mean I'm allowed in?" Horatio allowed his eyes to meet hers now and he gestured loosely with a hand towards the expanse of the police department that lay before him.

"You waited your week, so I guess you're allowed." She said with a smile that morphed into a smirk as she continued to speak. "I was actually surprised you didn't try to come back sooner."

"I couldn't face the shame of being thrown out of my own lab _again_." He rolled his eyes as he emphasized the word _'again'_ and she laughed in response.

"It's good to have you back Horatio." She pulled him into a quick hug. "How's Grace doing?"

"She's doing pretty well considering."

"Well that's good news. And you seem in pretty good shape too."

"Yep, I'm pretty much mended, it takes more than a bullet and cardiac arrest to keep me away from the lab." _'Although apparently I'm not immune to the determination of a short ballistics expert from Louisiana'_ he added mentally. Chuckling lightly at the irony of his thoughts. She smiled back, doubtless hearing his unspoken words loud and clear.

He stepped inside the cool interior of the building and was greeted by a smattering of applause from the few officers that stood around in the lobby. There was a code within the police that seemed to bond fellow officers together, it had been referred to over the years by many terms, although 'the blue line' seemed to be the most prevalent term, having stemmed from forces that wore blue as their primary uniform colour, of course here in Miami, where the uniforms were taupe and brown the colour reference was a little redundant, but the sentiment still held true. Maybe it was something to do with the horrific scenes that these officers encountered on a daily basis, maybe it was because they put themselves in harm's way so that a majority of the population wouldn't need to face that danger, whatever it was, those men and women who signed up for the force banded together in a camaraderie that was rarely seen in other walks of life. So when one of them went down in the line of duty the repercussions rippled through the whole county force. As Horatio was fond of saying, 'they hit one of us, they hit us all'. So today, as Horatio returned to work, the other police personnel showed their respect for a man who had faced the reaper, survived and returned to carry on with a job which was in his blood. Besides, the relief at seeing Horatio pull through went deeper than the team spirit imbued by the blue line, the head of the crime lab was admired and revered by a great deal of the force. He was known for his determined pursuit of the truth, for his fairness and for his sense of justice. He was the man whose door was always open, even when his jurisdiction limited his influence to CSI personnel he would never turn away anyone who needed to talk when things got a little tough. Horatio always had the right words of wisdom to impart and beyond all else, so long as they were honest with him, everyone knew that Horatio would have your back in a tough situation.

Alexx Woods looked up from the front desk, where she had been collecting her messages, curious about who would deserve the quiet applause of fellow officers. She smiled when she caught sight of a slightly red-faced Horatio standing in the doorway, clearly embarrassed by the attention.

"I guess Calleigh deemed you fit enough to come back then huh?" Alexx quipped as she walked over and pulled him into a tight hug.

"I guess so." Horatio flushed a deeper shade of red.

Alexx pushed away a little, adopting a sterner expression and raising her finger to point at Horatio.

"Now then Lieutenant, Officer Duquesne might have been charmed into agreeing that you're fit to return to work but I remain to be convinced. So just you…"

"I know, I know, if I feel tired then I'll stop and take a nap like a good boy." Horatio cut Alexx's mother-hen type rant off mid sentence. "I'm taking my meds and I promise to take it easy, but if I have to stay at home any longer I'm going to go stir crazy, Alexx." He grinned sheepishly.

"Well ok then, but just so long as we have an understanding, the first sign of you flagging then I'll be hounding you like never before. Understood?"

"Understood Ma'am." Horatio grinned and actually saluted the medical examiner, an action which elicited a chuckle from the women beside him.

"Seriously Horatio, it's good to have you back."

"Yeah, now _you_ can deal with all your paperwork, rather than making me do it all." Calleigh smiled angelically, her statement was met with a groan from Horatio.

"That's the only reason you let me come back isn't it? You got bored with doing the paperwork."

"Pretty much." Another innocent smile.

"Go on, tell me the damage, how many files are waiting for me on my desk?"

"Oh only two or three…"

"Two or three, that's not so bad."

"Sorry Handsome, no such luck, let me finish; only two or three…dozen."

"What?! You know suddenly I'm feeling a bit tired," he pretended to yawn, "perhaps I shouldn't be in today after all."

"Oh no you don't." Calleigh caught hold of his arm and started to drag him towards the elevators. "We wouldn't want you going stir crazy at home with nothing to do, not when there's all that lovely paperwork just sitting waiting to be done."

"You're a cruel woman Calleigh Duquesne."

"Well yeah, but what would y'all do without me?"

"_Probably less paperwork."_ Horatio muttered audibly as the elevator doors slid shut with a chime and they started their ascent up to CSI.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18 – Into the Fire**

Calleigh was in the break room when her phone beeped with an incoming message. She flipped open the phone's cover and grinned as she read the communication before glancing at her watch. She had to admit that it had taken him longer to crack than she thought it would. The text was a group message from Horatio asking the team to gather in the layout room for a briefing, which would undoubtedly take the form of Horatio fishing for details about the case concerning his shooter. He'd been shut in his office for just over two hours reading through the case files that he'd missed whilst on sick leave. She'd expected him to have cracked and called this gathering at least an hour ago; she had to admire the man's dedication, or possibly it was his stubbornness. Calleigh gulped down the last few mouthfuls of coffee, ignoring the tingling feeling as the slightly too hot liquid scalded her tongue and throat, and headed out in the direction of the layout room.

Walking through the doorway she was somewhat surprised to find that Horatio was not already present. Eric was leaning against the light table that dominated the centre of the room, whilst Ryan had pulled a stool up to the table on the opposite side of the room and was idly flicking through a case file on the desk in front of him. Both men seemed relieved that Calleigh's entrance had cut through the tense silence that stretched between them. Calleigh shook her head almost unnoticeably, she couldn't believe that Ryan and Eric had worked together for so long and yet had still not ironed out all the issues between them. But then again, she had to remind herself that things hadn't exactly been plain sailing between Eric and Speedle for the first few months following the Cuban's transfer to Horatio's team, both men circling the other trying to work each other out before they placed their trust wholeheartedly in the new acquaintance, but she was fairly certain that it hadn't been this irritating.

"Men." She muttered to herself, shaking her head lightly.

"What'd you say Cal?" Ryan queried, looking up from his file.

"Oh nothing." Calleigh responded brightly, flashing a prize-winning smile to allay Ryan's suspicions that her statement had been the slightest bit derogatory.

Natalia, who had followed Calleigh into the layout room had evidently heard Calleigh's quiet quip however and chuckled as she seated herself on a stool at the far end of the room, throwing a nod of agreement in Calleigh's direction.

"Oh we're not all that bad." A voice whispered in her ear, making her jump.

"Horatio, I swear you move as silently as a ghost."

There was no response from the Lieutenant other than an amused smile as he turned to address the rest of the group.

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen."

A chorus of 'Hey H,' 'good to have you back,' and 'Welcome back' echoed around the small room prompting a slightly embarrassed Horatio to tilt his head down to the floor and fiddle with the sunglasses that he held in his hands to hide the blush that was being raised on his cheeks.

"Thank-you, it feels good to be back, but we'll dispense with the niceties and get straight down to business. Whilst Calleigh has made ever effort to make sure I stay chained to my desk," he turned to Calleigh and whispered; "thankfully without the use of handcuffs this time," he raised an eyebrow, seeing her break into a grin before turning back to the group as a whole, "where the only thing that I'm slightly at risk of is getting a nasty paper-cut. Let's not try and ignore the obvious. We all know that there's one case that I'm particularly interested in. So why don't you start by telling me exactly where we stand on mine and Grace's attempted murders."

"Horatio…" Calleigh didn't have the chance to start on her pre-prepared speech about exactly why Horatio should keep himself as far away from the investigation as possible. The red-haired Lieutenant raised a finger and silenced her.

"No lectures Calleigh, I know exactly what you're going to say and I've already considered all the bad points to my being kept in the loop about this case. Yet I still want in. Officially I'm hands off..."

"And unofficially?" Her response was almost snapped.

"Unofficially I'm one-hundred-percent on board." He paused as he sent Calleigh a measured stare. It was a look that said 'don't challenge me on this, because I will go ahead either with or without your cooperation'. "So, you want to fill me in on where we're at or do I have to go hunt down the case file and read it myself?"

Calleigh snorted softly and muttered something which sounded a lot like 'stubborn ass', but there was the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she shrugged her shoulders, crossed her arms and made no more attempts to stop Horatio's involvement in the case. Horatio didn't need to see the miniscule smile, he read her thoughts through her eyes, the deepest opaline green pools that seemed to speak in a language only he understood. In truth she'd known from the moment she'd heard that Horatio had been injured over the police scanner that was always kept in the break room that there was going to be no way of stopping Horatio getting himself involved in the investigation if he pulled through and if she was honest she wanted him involved. It was difficult to explain, but somehow it was more comforting to know that Horatio was at the helm of the case, his dogged persistence, his flashes of lighting inspiration and the passionate way he conducted his work was always impressive, inspiring, reassuring.

"So…if there are no more objections…" Horatio prompted, glancing around at the gathered CSIs, wondering who was going to start the ball rolling on the rundown of facts. He had no doubts that now Calleigh had essentially given him the all clear the others would follow suit. Whilst he wore the badge of the senior officer he knew that in moments of moral dilemmas it was Calleigh whose conduct would provide the team with their benchmark.

"I guess I'll start then." Natalia was the first to meet his steady gaze. "We identified the guy who shot you and Grace as one Lorenzo Castonato, better known to his friends simply as 'Renzo'. His record says he's a small-time criminal and a nasty little thug that comes from a family of like-minded people. His mother's done some time in lockup for soliciting and she's got a record for a couple of pretty nasty assaults. Father's done time for drug possession with intent to supply, B and E and a serious assault charge that he picked up after he beat some poor guy half to death in a barroom brawl. Renzo's brother; Tony Castonato is currently in the Pen. on a manslaughter charge."

"I had a word with Tripp, who was one of the investigating officers in Tony's case, he says they were desperate to pin a Murder One charge on the bastard but the prosecutor didn't think the evidence was strong enough to guarantee a conviction so they had to settle for manslaughter." Eric added to Natalia's brief rundown of the shooter and his family.

"So what you're saying is that the Castonato clan is a pretty nasty bunch."

"That's a pretty fair summation." Natalia agreed, nodding.

"Alex's autopsy turned up a few tattoos on our boy Renzo." Ryan placed a couple of glossy photographs on the table as he spoke. One image was a wide-angled shot of the whole torso of the dead man which showed a line of markings snaking from his right hip across his chest and up to his left shoulder. The other image was a close up of a few of the markings.

"Gang allegiance tats?" Horatio asked quickly, picking one photograph up and studying it before replacing it back on the table and reaching to study the next photo.

"Yeah, looks like it.

"Well the tats on his shoulder label him as one of the Cabracans, but these," he pointed to some markings on the photograph that displayed the dead man's torso, "these aren't familiar gang tats. Do we have a new gang presence in the city?" He looked around at this team for corroboration.

"Tripp's been looking into it for us, that, amongst other things is the bit that's held up the investigation for a long time; no-one seems to want to talk about it."

"Gangland Miami scared of the new boys? That doesn't fill me with confidence."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Usually these new gangs have to earn their stripes before they get the respect from the other groups, these guys seem to have come with a pre-approved pedigree." Ryan's face looked grim as he spoke.

"Frank lucked out on the informant front so I called in a favour from a guy that's working undercover in the Miami gang scene," Calleigh added.

Horatio glanced over at her, he didn't need to vocalise the question of whether it was Jake Berkeley that she'd pressed for the information. She caught his glance, understood instantly, and nodded.

"So what does our source have to tell us about these new guys?" Horatio asked.

"That they're not such new guys after all," Ryan responded cryptically.

"How so?"

"They're called _Las Hormigas Bravas_…"

"_The Fire Ants_, don't they just sound like the friendliest bunch?" Calleigh smirked.

"Well, that explains the tattoos," Horatio picked up the photographs of Lorenzo Castonato's body, the inked markings could be clearly identified as a magnified line of red fire ants marching across his torso. "So how come these guys get instant bad-ass status?"

"Because their members are all from other established gangs." Ryan paused as he worked out how to explain this clearly. "It's an idea that some smart ass took from our own military. There's never been any kind of cohesion between the gangs in Miami which is why we've always been able to keep on top of them, well someone decided to adopt a system similar to the Green Berets, the SEALs or Delta Force."

"The best of the best?"

"Right, except in this case it's the best of the worst. Members of Las Hormigas Bravas are already part of other Miami gangs, they have proven records of allegiance to those gangs and have killed at least twice for them. Membership to Las Hormigas is by invitation only and if that invitation comes no-one is stupid enough to turn it down. Membership to the original gang is retained, being a member of Las Hormigas is more of a status thing with the understanding that you may be called upon to perform certain duties."

"By 'certain duties' I presume you mean to kill on their behalf." Horatio commented grimly.

"Uh-huh." Ryan nodded. "And it explains why this group hasn't been uncovered before now; if we can recognise allegiance tats to one known group then we're not likely to keep looking at them for membership to any other gang, it's not the usual pattern to these thugs to belong to more than one group."

"There's more, H." Eric continued. "Tripp's pretty certain that this wasn't Renzo's first outing with a gun."

"What do you mean?"

"Whilst his official record has him as a small time thug, Frank has his suspicions that Renzo was operating as a gun for hire, a pay-per-kill executioner. Homicide bureau started a file on him when his name came up in connection with a spate of execution style killings a couple of months ago, but they've never been able to get any hard evidence on him, and apparently there's no snitch stupid enough to rat him out to the authorities." Eric finished his statement with a pointed look at Horatio, a look which conveyed the message that this guy had not been a man to be messed with.

"The tattoos give us an indication why no-one's dumb enough to rat on the guy and back up Frank's theory on his gun for hire status," Ryan continued.

"How so, Mr Wolfe?"

"According to what Cal's inside source has told us, gang membership to _Las Hormigas_ automatically allows you to have three fire ants tattooed on your hip." He pointed to the first group of ants on Lorenzo's autopsy photograph. "With each subsequent hit that you perform successfully for _Las Hormigas_ you add another ant tattoo."

Horatio stared at the image on the table in front of him. "But this guy's got, what, fifteen ants across his chest?"

"Seventeen altogether, so assuming Calleigh's source is right and minus-ing the three for his initial joining-up inauguration Lorenzo's killed fourteen people on _Hormigas_ business."

"Grace and I were to be fifteen and sixteen," Horatio said grimly. "But now Lorenzo has landed himself with a prime place in the city morgue." Horatio paused, his mind whirling with thoughts, his forefinger and thumb pulling lightly at his bottom lip. "So I guess we're left with two options for motive; either the attack was revenge, possibly for something I've done to disadvantage the _Hormigas_ gang, Lorenzo got permission to carry out the hit as revenge for something I'd done to his family in the past or they were paid to do the hit in the parking lot by someone else. I don't remember any past cases involving the Castonato family, but I may have been called as an expert witness at some point which Lorenzo feels was the reason that a family member spent time inside. Anyone checked out the possibility that I was involved in the investigations?"

"Yes. I chased down the arrest and conviction records for each member of Renzo's family, and let me tell you that was one heck of a list of convictions," Natalia grinned, "and your name never came up once in the records, not as an investigator, arresting officer, forensics tech or an expert witness at the trials."

"Nice work. Well, I'd never seen those fire ant gang tats before today, I reckon I would have seen something like it if I'd crossed the _Hormigas Bravas_ before."

"Yeah, I went back and checked through the criminal database; anyone convicted of a crime goes through a thorough medical examination before they're incarcerated and all tattoos and markings are recorded for future reference. There were a couple of guys with fire ant tattoos locked up in the past year or so but none of their convictions had anything to do with you."

"So that leaves us with option C. I pissed someone off enough that they went out and hired a hitman to get rid of me…again." He said the last word with the tiniest of smirks on his face but whereas he had expected a small chuckle from at least Eric, the response from the room was silence that was as deafening as an air-horn.

Horatio read the silence like an expert. "What aren't you telling me?"

The members of his team glanced at one another before Calleigh eventually made an irritated noise by exhaling through her nose and spoke up. "There is an option D on the table. If Renzo was hired for a hit, it doesn't look like the hit was put out on you."

"You mean…what makes you think…?" Horatio shuddered inwardly at the thought.

"When Alexx examined the body she found this in Lorenzo's jacket pocket." Ryan spoke quietly as he opened the file in front of him and pulled out a plastic bag that contained a glossy photograph. The picture seemed to have been taken through a long-angled lens, the background was blurred, but the main subject of the photograph was in crisp focus; Grace's face shone out of the picture, her attention apparently trained on something just to the right of where the photographer was standing.

Horatio took the photograph, encased in its protective plastic covering from Ryan and took a good look, his mind once again racing. As much as he hated to think about it, the presence of this piece of evidence added another possible motive for the attack; that Grace was the intended target and that he was just collateral damage.

"Can you think of any reason why Grace might be a target for a hit? Has she severely irritated anyone in the past, enough to want her dead?"

"No. She's a photographer, not some undercover agent, she doesn't make enemies who would want to put her in the ground."

Calleigh sighed. "Listen, we took a look into Grace's background, standard procedure. Did you know she has a gun registered to her?"

"Yes."

"That she has a licence to carry and a concealed weapons permit?"

"Yes."

"And that she had the weapon with her when you were attacked in the parking lot?"

"Yes. She was trying to get a better shot at the guy when he turned and fired on her."

"You knew about the gun before you were attacked?"

"Yes."

He could see that this admission had surprised Calleigh who knew his views on civilians and weapons. Most people argued that owning a weapon protected them. Horatio, on the other hand, argued that having a gun invited more trouble than it staved off. So his stance was that civilians were better off without weapons.

"Why would she ever feel the need to carry a weapon Horatio?"

"She has her reasons."

"Which are…?" Calleigh prompted.

"Grace's business." He responded matter of factly and saw her face twist in irritation at his avoidance of answering the question. The back and forth of snappy questions and responses between Calleigh and Horatio had made the room fade away, the rest of the team, mesmerized by the rapid exchange of information in this verbal tennis match had also slipped into the background. As far as either the blonde ballistics expert and the red-haired supervisor were concerned at the moment they were the only two in the room.

"Look Horatio, all we're saying here is how well do you actually know her?"

"Calleigh, she's my fiancée."

"Yes but being engaged to someone and actually knowing them are two entirely different things Horatio. Look at all the perps we've got banged to rights for the most hideous crimes whose wives are protesting their husbands' innocence despite the fact that we've just found the carved-up remnants of three disembodied victims in the bottom of their freezer alongside a pack of prime beef steak. I'm just saying, we never completely _know_ anyone."

"Well I can promise you there are no body parts stored in my freezer, it was defrosted just the other week." That retort elicited a snort of humour from Eric, who instantly apologised for his outburst when Calleigh fixed him with a cold glare.

"Horatio…"

"You think she's playing me for a fool?"

"I didn't say that, but we have to consider all possibilities. We have found evidence at the crime scene that suggests that Grace was the primary target of the hit and now we find that she has enough of a reason to believe her life is in danger to warrant her carrying a firearm at all times." She shrugged in a manner that simply oozed the insinuation of a 'what do you think' retort.

"Cal. I can't tell you why she carries the gun. It's up to Grace whether she tells you why she has it or not; it's not my story to tell. But I need you to trust me when I say that it has no bearing on this case…it _can't_."

Calleigh drew breath and then stopped herself from speaking, finally nodding her head in acceptance of Horatio's reasons behind his refusal to expand on their knowledge as she studied his face. Calleigh had long ago accepted the fact that Horatio was somewhat of an oxymoron when it came to his investigative method, he was at once a man of pure science and logical thinking as well as a man of deep religious beliefs. He could follow the evidence, the hard facts or he could follow his gut and the two paths would usually converge somewhere down the line and had an eerie way of coming up with the same conclusion. Horatio was a bundle of the logical and illogical all at once. Calleigh had once asked him how he could deduce the progression of events when the evidence only gave a partial view of the crime, Horatio had reiterated one of his favourite lines and then expanded on it; he told her that the evidence never lied…but sometimes it didn't tell the whole story. Sometimes you had to fill in the blanks in order to see the whole picture.

Horatio took advantage of the ensuing silence that followed his previous statement, allowing his mind to review the information that he had ingested so far in this sit-down with his team. It seemed certain that with the lack of personal links, Lorenzo Castonato was acting as a hired gun in the attack and just because he was dead the investigation didn't end, not until they followed the trail and found whoever was responsible for putting out the hit in the first place. Horatio weighed the two most likely motives for hiring a hitman; either the shooter had been targeting Grace specifically because of something that had happened in the hazy fog of her past or she had been targeted because…_because it was the easiest way to hurt me_, Horatio thought. This was the thought that, if he was honest, he'd been avoiding ever since he'd first seen the guy pull the gun out from beneath his coat in the parking lot; he was responsible for the near death of his fiancée. An image of Marisol welled up in his mind, and before he could stop himself his eyes darted towards Eric. He often wondered how Delko could return to work day after day with the knowledge that his sister was dead because of his boss. Horatio blamed himself fully for her untimely demise and now it all seemed to be happening again.

As Horatio ran the main points of the case through his head he was absolutely certain that although Grace may have been the intended target, the crime was meant to hurt him the most. Someone was sending him a message and somehow he didn't think they were quite done yet.

Horatio shook the deep thoughts out of his head for the moment, aware that the eyes of the rest of his team were currently all on him, waiting for his reaction, curious as to what his next move would be…

"So, anything else…?" He asked, keen to move on with the information so that he could come back and mull over this particular aspect of the case when he had a little more time and privacy.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19 – Inner Turmoil**

The rest of the briefing had been fairly monotonous, his team had relayed all the information that they had gathered so far, nothing else seemed to stand up and grab his attention as particularly relevant. They'd spent a long time over the past few weeks going over cases in his past, looking for criminals that he'd put behind bars that might still have borne a grudge when they were released. The steady stream of names reawakened old memories of cases long past, but it was not so much the criminals themselves that instantly appeared in his mind with each case his team suggested, but the faces of the victims and their families.

So as he'd left the layout room Horatio's mind had been buzzing steadily, processing the new data he'd accumulated, his mind turning over and over in the practiced manner of a seasoned investigator. The first moments when you were thrown into a case were like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle whilst blindfolded; you just turned the pieces around and around trying to find two pieces that fitted together snugly that you could use as a starting point. Horatio had found a couple of pieces already and had already made his first connections in the case. It was possible of course that just because the pieces seemed to fit together now, once the blindfold came off it might just turn out that he'd got a piece of sky linked to a piece of earth that bore no resemblance to the adjacent puzzle piece, it wouldn't be the first time he'd seen links where none existed, but now he needed time to think, because if it turned out that he was right, he had some unpleasant decisions to make.

"Horatio." The soft southern voice bought him out of his reverie and back into the present and Horatio turned his head to find Calleigh leaning on the door-frame of the layout room.

"Yes Ma'am?"

She sighed deeply before she spoke, her brow pulled into a small frown as she thought about what words to use.

"Horatio, I really don't think…"

He knew what she was going to say even before she said it and interrupted her mid-sentence. "Cal. We've had this discussion. Protocol or not, wild horses couldn't keep me away from this case."

"I know, but I'm just saying, be careful. I know you'll put all your heart and soul into this case, heck, it wouldn't be you if you didn't. But I think I need to remind you of an old gambler's caution my daddy used to tell me; you only bet what you can afford to lose."

"Meaning?"

"You're gambling so much on solving this case, you'll put so much of yourself into it…well…I'm just saying you've got a lot to lose."

"Cal, you are my voice of reason in crazy times, the guiding light that will pull me through the stormy seas…"

"You do know that just because you get poetic that I won't just shut up and go away, right?"

"It was worth a try." He shrugged and they both laughed.

"Fine, well your guiding light will be down in ballistics if you need her." She said with a smile as she turned on her heel and began to walk away in the direction of the ballistics lab.

"Cal?" He called as she was halfway down the corridor.

She paused and turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Thank-you."

Calleigh's smile widened and waved his thanks away with a dismissive gesture of her hand before continuing down the corridor.

--

Horatio had always been drawn to the ocean. It was perhaps for this reason that when he was forced out of New York he had applied to join the police force down here in the Southern Floridian city where no matter where you were you usually had a view of the water. There was something about the wide open expanse of water, the isolation and self-reliance that the ocean prompted that appealed to him. The steady rhythm of the waves pushing their way up the shoreline before receding once more to whence they came, dragging with them any moveable detritus that it may have encountered on its brief spell on land, calmed him. The steady rumbling percussion acted much as a metronome, something that he could concentrate on in an attempt to regulate his breathing and order his often jumbled thoughts.

Right now Horatio's mind was spinning even though he had only one thing on his mind. He had pondered over the evidence from the case as he had driven through the city and had concluded that there was only one motive that made sense. There was no way that Grace was the intended target because of something lurking in her past, there was just no way that that could be true. What had Calleigh said? _How well did he actually know Grace?_ He thought about that. How well did we know anyone? We could even be strangers to ourselves sometimes, so how could we truly know anyone? But as much as it was difficult to comprehensively know and understand someone else's past, Horatio was certain that this couldn't be down to something in Grace's past. Could it? No, someone that he had pissed off, probably during the course of a past investigation had taken out a contract on Grace because they had realised that she was his one weakness, that her life meant more to him than his own pitiful existence. In order to cause him the ultimate pain they had targeted the one person that he had allowed to get really close to him in a long time. Horatio also realised that if one criminal had worked out where his vulnerability lay then the next perp he locked up was just as likely to come to the same conclusion. Every time he came up against a formidable foe hell-bent on getting some small measure of revenge then Grace would be the first in the line of fire.

Horatio wandered slowly along the beach, which in the heat of the midday sun was almost deserted; the locals knowing better than to be out facing the unrelenting rays of a fierce noon sun and tourists having been made aware that the tide was coming in and that this particular beach would disappear under the swell of the ocean's waves in a matter of hours. As he walked, he watched grains of sand that had settled themselves on the surface of his shoes were flung up into the air briefly with each pace before tumbling in a light rain back to the beach. His brain was telling him what he needed to do to secure some peace of mind, but his heart was fighting all the way, coming up with objection after objection attempting to persuade him that what his brain was telling him to do wasn't the right course of action. For once the normally sure-footed, unflappable Lieutenant was confused, his emotions whipped into a frenzied whirlwind. What had Calleigh told him? 'You've got a lot to lose'? Of course when she'd said that she'd been talking about the job, about how crossing the professional line and breaking protocols could endanger the investigation as well as his career. But her words could also be applied to his other, most pressing, consideration.

Horatio paused his ambling pace, lifting his hands to peel the sunglasses from his face so he could see the true colour of the turquoise waters, unadulterated by the tinted film of glass. He glanced down to his feet and found the remnants of a child's sandcastle, partially derelict, the towers that had been lovingly crafted from wet sand had been demolished, tumbling into the undulating ramparts. It was, Horatio realised, a small act of defiance by the castle's creator who had destroyed the structure before it was razed to the ground, washed into the swell of the rising ocean waves. It was a pre-emptive strike that dulled the pain of loss slightly, to destroy your own creation was significantly less painful than to see someone or something else do the same. And suddenly the proverbial cloud that had been hovering overhead morphed into a thunderstorm, Horatio's decision was made, he knew what he had to do and nothing could stand in the way of his own pre-emptive strike.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20 – Revealing your soul**

It was with a heavy heart that Horatio walked in through the hospital entrance. His mind had been a battleground for most of the day, but now he had thought it all through and had decided what needed to be done. It wouldn't make him happy in the short term, but for years to come he would have to remind himself that what he was about to do was for the greater good.

At first Grace didn't notice him standing in the doorway to her room. Her attention was firmly focused on the book in her hands. He took the opportunity to just watch her, to drink in the contours of her face, the wave of her hair. Eventually he saw a look flash across her eyes and he knew instantly that she was currently experiencing that sixth sense, that feeling that you were being watched, she turned her head in his direction and found him leaning on the doorframe.

"Well hey there." Her face broke into a smile upon seeing him.

"Hey."

"So? How's your first day back at work going?"

"How'd you know I went back to work?"

"Horatio, your whole life is tied up in that lab, of course you've gone back to work. Besides, you've got your badge on." She nodded towards his belt where the gold police badge caught and reflected the light."

"Oh. Busted."

"Damn right. You've been out of the hospital for a whole week, I'm surprised you didn't go back sooner."

"I tried, but Calleigh wouldn't let me in the building."

Grace laughed out loud and had to make an effort to stop when the laughter made the wound in her chest start to hurt. Horatio found himself smiling along with her, but when she winced in pain it bought back the memory of what the purpose for this visit was and the smile fell from his face.

"Well, that's a sombre expression you've got on your face, something on your mind?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"So tell me. A problem shared is a problem halved."

"In this case, I wouldn't be so sure about that." Horatio slumped down in the seat by the top of the bed and leant forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees and his head was in his hands. "We turned up some evidence today that made me re-evaluate a few things."

"Re-evaluate?" She rolled the word around her tongue, trying to work out why he should use that particular word in conjunction with the case. "Somehow that doesn't sound like a good thing."

"The guy from the parking lot. The guy that shot you…"

"Shot _us_." She corrected.

"That shot _us_. He had a photograph of you in his pocket."

"But I'd never seen him before."

"I know."

"Then how…?"

"I think, and I'm pretty certain that the rest of the team will agree…eventually, that someone took out a hit on you to get to me. Grace, I've had a long career in the police force, both here in Miami and back up in New York. I've got under the skin of a lot of powerful people over the years and they're most definitely not averse to taking their irritation out on the people I love. I can't let that happen."

"Last year, the Mala Noches put a hit out on you."

"That's different. The Noches green lit me for a kill. _Me_. From the first moment I signed up for the police I knew that if I did my job properly that I would face that possibility, but the people close to me? They didn't sign up for that, and they don't deserve to suffer for my choices. _You_ don't deserve to suffer for my choices."

"Horatio, you're not making sense, what are you saying?"

"The hardest thing I've ever said." He sighed. "Grace, we can't be together."

She had drawn breath to argue with whatever he was about to say, but his words stopped the breath in her throat.

"You think I'm weak." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I beg your pardon?"

"For not being able to shoot that man before he shot me, you think I'm weak. A trained officer wouldn't have hesitated, a trained officer would have shot him quicker."

"But Grace, you're not a trained marksman. I don't think you're weak. I didn't fall in love with a sharp shooter, I fell in love with you."

"Then it's because I'm going to be scarred from being shot." She pulled the bed covers up high, until they tucked under her chin. Putting an extra layer of fabric over the area where Horatio knew a raging wound had been stitched up after surgeons had removed the bullet from her chest.

"Grace, that's not it." He waited until she looked at him before he continued, when he caught her eye he spoke with a deep sincerity. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

"But…"

"Grace." There was a warning growl to his voice. But Grace took no notice of his unspoken request for her to leave the subject alone, there was no way he was going to dump this on her and she wasn't going to get a straight answer out of him.

"Then why don't you love me any more?" Her voice was razor edged with accusation.

"I still love you."

"Then, why the _fuck_ are you putting me through this Horatio?" The accusation had developed and grown into anger now and he could see her wince as she moved too quickly and felt a jolt of pain from her chest wound.

Her language made him start, in all the time he'd known her he'd hardly ever heard her curse and he knew that he was going to have to explain his reasoning fully. She wasn't going to make this easy for him.

"Because everyone I love dies. I have to let you go so you won't die, if that happened I would never forgive myself."

"I won't let you go Horatio." Her voice quavered, but there was still an adamant determination in her tone. "And I am _not_ going to die."

"Not this time, but what if there's a next time and a time after that?" God, this was even more difficult than he'd imagined it was going to be. "I never really told you about Marisol did I?"

"No."

"You know the basics; I met Marisol as part of a routine investigation, she was so brave, even though she knew she had cancer she was so lively, so positive. I suppose the knowledge that she might not have long left to live gave her the chance to live life and take chances that the rest of us are just a little too afraid to take, she wasn't afraid to make plans, despite the fact that she might not be here to see them fulfilled. She was like a breath of fresh air in my life and she taught me a lot. It was a whirlwind romance, barely a few months from the day I met her until we were married. You already know that she was shot by a Mala Noche shooter just a day or so after our wedding. The Noches green-lit me for a hit, but someone decided that shooting her would be just as good. I swore when she died that I'd never let myself get close to anyone again, never put them in the same danger that I put Marisol. Then you just walked into my life and I couldn't help but fall in love with you. You bought me back to life and I forgot the promise that I'd made to myself."

"So it's my fault now?"

"No." His response was instant and adamant. "I haven't told you that I was there when she died have I?" Horatio's eyes were misty as he delved into memories that he had hidden away. This was the first time he had spoken earnestly about Marisol's death and how much it had affected him. "She fought the darkness for a long time, made it to the hospital, but in the end the bullet had done too much damage, more damage than willpower alone could fight against. She took her last breath while I held her hand, I think she waited for me, wanted to know that I was there so that she could say goodbye. I can't do that again Grace. Seeing the life vanish from her, it broke my heart. That woman, who was so full of life and joy, who made plans for the future was dead and it was my fault."

Grace started to take a breath as if to interrupt him, but he stopped her.

"No Grace, I know what you're going to say and there's no point arguing against it, it _was_ my fault. If she hadn't been with me then she wouldn't be dead, at least not from a bullet. When I met you, you started rebuilding my heart piece by piece. I never thought that I'd be able to love anyone like I loved her, but I do. I love you with all my heart and soul and that's why I'm doing this. I can't watch you die Grace, it'd kill me too. You are too important, too beautiful, too pure to be some sadistic bastard's revenge against me, I'm not worth the risk. It may seem hard right now, but in the long run it's the best thing to do. I'm sorry sweetheart."

He stood from the chair and headed towards the door. He had to get out of there before the reality of what he had just done set in, before he changed his mind and started to backtrack. As he reached the threshold to the room Grace called his name.

"Horatio?"

He turned and looked at her and felt a sharp pain in his chest when he saw the tears in her eyes.

"You _are_ worth the risk you know. You shouldn't ever believe otherwise." She paused before continuing. "Some time ago you told me something, something that other people have said before you, but you were the first one that said it that I believed actually meant it."

"Mmm?"

"You told me that you'd never hurt me."

"Yes." He remembered the moment he'd whispered it to her.

"Well, you're hurting me now Horatio." It was such a simple and honest statement.

He saw a tear roll down her cheek, winding its slow slalom towards her jaw before she shifted in the bed, and turned onto her side, finally breaking eye-contact. He could hear her tears start in earnest now, although it was clear that she was trying to disguise her crying and be quiet, but regardless, he could see how the emotion wracked her body with shudder after shudder as the sobs sent a wave of desperate sadness through ever fibre of her being. He wanted to rush over and hold her tight until the tears stopped, but he had to be strong, for both of them.

"I'm sorry Grace." He whispered.

He walked away with just a quick glance over his shoulder.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21 – Smart yet Stupid**

_Thump, thump, thump._

The steady beat of the rubber soled boots on the smooth floor was echoed by another pair of boots walking at the same pace just half a metre away. Greg had been working for Fed-Ex for about a year now and he'd had to come into the MDPD building on several occasions, every single time it freaked him out. He couldn't pin down what it was that gave him the creeps about the place, whether it was the evil looks from suspects and proven criminals sitting in interview rooms; their hands cuffed behind their backs, the sad and desolate glances from the families of victims whose faces simply screamed their loss and desolation, or perhaps it was the suspicious eyes of the detectives that followed him as he walked down the corridor. He'd had to take a registered letter to a Dr Woods a couple of months ago, he hadn't been allowed into the morgue itself, something that he was eternally grateful for, but he'd glanced through a couple of windows as he'd walked down towards her office and had seen rows of stainless steel cabinets, each with tiny name labels. What he'd seen through the next window had been even more disturbing, several gurneys each holding a corpse wrapped in a plastic body bag, one had been open just enough to allow the victim's bluish tinged arm to stick out. By the time he'd actually met Dr Woods to hand over her letter Greg had been as white as a sheet. He'd had nightmares about that place for weeks afterwards. So today, he was very happy to find that the recipient of the letter he'd been sent to deliver apparently had an office in the main laboratory space, far away from the nightmare-inducing morgue.

The only good point about delivering mail to the MDPD was the chance that he might have to walk past the room that was usually littered with guns in various states of construction. There was a pretty blonde woman that was usually in there. Greg corrected his train of thought, she wasn't just pretty, that was an understatement; _hot_, that was nearer the mark, yep, she was hot. Greg smiled when he realised that his path, as directed by the uniformed officer at his side, would indeed take him past that very lab but was incredibly disappointed when he glanced inside a moment later and found it deserted, the blonde scientist was nowhere to be seen.

He was always accompanied by a cop when he had to come into this building, that was another reason perhaps why he felt creeped out. He understood the need for an escort, they couldn't let just anyone go wandering around in the labs, they dealt with evidence collected from the most horrific crimes in Miami in here, let the wrong person in unaccompanied and the whole place might go up in flames and goodness knows how many cases would be compromised. The uniformed officer made his way over to a short flight of stairs and Greg followed him. A quick knock on the glass door at the top of the steps elicited a 'come in' from inside the room. Greg was virtually shoved inside, while the officer waited at the door.

"How can I help you son?" The man that asked the question was seated at the desk in front of the large plate glass window. He leaned back in his seat as he greeted the newcomer, stretching out his arms and releasing some of the tension in his muscles. His face was set into a friendly smile, but there was something behind his expression that made Greg think that this man did not want to be smiling right now.

"Um, are you Lieutenant Caine, Sir?"

"I am."

"I've got a package for you." Greg had walked over to the desk as he spoke and handed Horatio a clipboard. "Sign here please." The Lieutenant signed and handed the clipboard back to the Fed-Ex guy and in return received a small envelope.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

As he turned to go, Greg nearly bumped into Calleigh, who had managed to enter the room almost silently.

"Sorry Ma'am."

"Well hey there," Calleigh grinned widely.

Greg lost all control of his vocal chords as he tried to talk to the blonde woman that he'd been so disappointed not to see earlier and did a wonderful impression of a stuttering imbecile. He made a mental note of the name embroidered on the white lab coat she was wearing; Duquesne. He finally regained the control over his vocal chords just as the police officer outside the room cleared his throat and motioned for Greg to follow him. Damn it, what appalling timing.

"He's quite cute." Calleigh said with a chuckle as she watched the Fed-Ex guy practically being dragged across the floor of CSI. She had expected to hear some sort of laughter from Horatio and when none was forthcoming she looked around to take a closer look at her boss.

His head was bowed and a deep sigh escaped his lips. The envelope that he had taken from the Fed-Ex delivery guy was torn open on the desk in front of him. A sheaf of paper lay next to it and in Horatio's hand Calleigh saw something twinkling, catching the light from the window behind her boss and reflecting it into the room.

Taking a step closer she could identify the shining object as an engagement ring.

"Horatio? What's happened?"

"Grace…"

"What? What's wrong?" Calleigh knew that Grace had woken from her unconscious state some time ago now. Surely there was no way for any complications to set her recovery back now. She couldn't be…dead, could she?

"I told her we couldn't be together."

"You…why on Earth not?" She couldn't understand it, she had seen the relationship between Horatio and Grace blossom from the moment they had met. She knew that he loved her as much, no, _more_ than he had loved Marisol, probably more even than he had loved Yelina and yet he had chosen to end their relationship and suffer the severe heart-ache that was clearly visible on his face.

"Because I love her too much to lose her."

"Horatio…sweetheart, you're not making any sense."

"You said it Cal. Don't gamble what you can't afford to lose? I can't afford to lose her forever. I won't put her life at risk every time I do something to irritate some gang. I'm making her a target."

Calleigh walked around the desk and leant back against the wooden surface by Horatio's side. "That was a poker analogy, and I was talking about your job, not your love life. So let me get this straight. You love her too much to lose her and yet you're losing her anyway? Horatio," she paused for her second to lend what she was about to say the emphasis that it deserved, "you are by far the smartest man I know, but sometimes you can be incredibly _stupid_."

He turned to look at her, sitting back in his chair, a bemused expression on his face.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. For the past twelve months you've been the happiest I think I've ever seen you and now you're throwing it all away over one wacko. You're letting them win."

"No." He said it with such determination that Calleigh was surprised. "It's not about winning or losing, it's the fact that I can't ask Grace to put herself in danger for me. She doesn't know what the risks are."

"Horatio, your heart and your head are both working at a crazy pace and somehow they're running in opposite directions, you need to get them to start listening to each other and working towards the same goal. And if you think that Grace doesn't understand the risks then you're insulting her intelligence. She's not stupid, she knows what the risks are and yet she's willing to take that risk for you. Think about it. She knows enough about your past to know what danger surrounds your life and yet she still agreed to marry you. If she's willing to die for you then have you any idea how much she must be hurting right now to know that you've turned your back on her?"

All the time that Calleigh was speaking Horatio sat back in his chair, twisting the ring over and over with his fingers. She leaned over and slapped him gently on the head.

"Horatio! Are you even listening to me?"

"Hey! Yes I'm listening to you. Oh, and I'm pretty sure there's something in the police rulebook about not hitting your boss around the head."

"Yes, well, the people who wrote that book had never met anyone as infuriatingly noble and irritatingly stubborn as you Horatio Caine."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22 – Bygones and Breakthroughs**

As Horatio walked through the crime lab it felt like he was battling against air that was as thick as treacle. He'd come down into the main lab briefly to grab a cup of coffee and found that all his get up and go appeared to have, well, got up and gone, leaving him with little enthusiasm for returning to his office and re-immersing himself in the mountain of paperwork that still stood on his desk.

There was only one other person in the break room when Horatio arrived. Rick Stetler was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the communal pot, stirring in a couple of sugars, probably to mask the taste of the god-awful caffeine brew that the county foisted on its workers. Ordinarily Horatio would walk on by and stop back to collect a cup of coffee once he was sure that Rick had left, but today he decided to take a different approach.

"Rick." Horatio dipped his head slightly in the Sergeant's direction as a greeting.

"Horatio." Stetler replied, filling the one word greeting with as much venom as he could muster.

It struck Horatio that it was such a stupid dance that the pair played around each other, observing the societal niceties but each desperately hoping that the other was going to fall flat on their face.

"You know what Rick? I was thinking, we should go grab a drink sometime."

"Well I knew you'd…" Rick paused mid-sentence, "…I'm sorry, what did you say?" His face was the picture of utter confusion. "For a second there I thought you said…"

"We should get a drink sometime. Try and iron out some of our differences, for the sake of the lab."

Rick was glancing around warily, obviously convinced that this was a ploy by Horatio to get him reprimanded or something. "Horatio are you feeling ok?" He hissed.

"Yeah, still a bit battered and bruised I guess, but not too bad, thanks."

"Well, that's good. Anyway, I'd better go…" He motions towards the door.

"Yeah, sure, I should probably be getting back to it as well. But Rick, just one thing; I just don't think you'd enjoy being a stock broker."

Rick frowned, Horatio had clearly lost it. "I wouldn't…what?...Horatio what the hell are you talking about?"

"Someone mentioned that you may have been thinking about leaving the force and going into the stock market, or real estate."

"Who the hell told you…oh…" Realisation dawned on Stetler's face as he remembered a certain one-sided conversation he'd had with a man that he'd been certain had been asleep in a hospital bed and worked out that Horatio wasn't mad. "Listen, I don't know what you think you heard but you're dead wrong." Rick's face was starting to get red, whether it was with embarrassment or anger Horatio couldn't tell.

"I just…"

"You mention a word of this to anyone Caine and I'll…I'll…"

"Surprise people by showing them that you actually have a human side Rick?"

"I don't need people to like me to do my job Caine."

"No but it's not necessary for you to make them hate you either. I think that you're a good man, you've made a few _monumental_ mistakes, but I don't think you're a natural bastard."

"Well I…" His retort, if he had managed to find one was cut off by Ryan's excited arrival.

"Horatio. Oh, I didn't see you there Sergeant." Ryan addressed the IAB man with a voice that dripped with contempt and a look that suggested Stetler was something unpleasant that he'd just found on the bottom of his shoe. The necessary niceties observed, Ryan turned his back on Stetler and continued talking to his boss. "Horatio I think we caught a break in the case."

"Lead the way Mr Wolfe. And Rick, you call me if you ever feel like getting that drink." Horatio patted Stetler once on the arm and then turned to walk away down the corridor.

Ryan gawked open-mouthed. Had Horatio actually just suggested the idea of going for a drink with the rat that was Rick Stetler wouldn't completely disgust him?

"Mr Wolfe? You said something about a break in the case?"

"Oh, uh yeah, right H. In the trace lab…Did you just…?"

"The case Mr Wolfe, concentrate on the case." Horatio couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he saw the utterly astonished expression on Ryan's face.

--

"So, what do we have Mr Wolfe?" Horatio asked as he strode into the trace lab only a few steps behind the younger CSI.

The large screen mounted on the wall of the lab was displaying a rotating diagram of the molecular structure of a familiar substance.

"Cocaine."

"Ok, that puts pretty much half of Miami in the picture, care to elaborate on that?"

"We found a few baggies of coke in Lorenzo Castonato's pockets when we went through his clothes after the autopsy. It seems that he was planning on having a little celebration after carrying out the hit on you and Grace." Ryan didn't pause and Horatio found himself smiling at the young man's enthusiasm. Ordinarily people tip-toed around the subject of his being shot for fear of prompting some sort of flash-back, but not Ryan, no, right now he was far too single-minded, far too caught up in the excitement of the science that he hadn't given it another thought. "I've run a sample of the cocaine through the mass-spec to analyse its components and to see exactly what it's been cut with and in what quantities. Then I ran the resulting composition through the database to check if that particular cut is in the system." Now Ryan took a moment to pause.

"And?" Horatio had to prompt him to continue.

"Oh, right. Well, actually, take a look." Ryan turned to the computer behind him and typed a command line into the machine. Immediately the image of the spinning molecule vanished from the screens around the lab and was replaced with a graph charting the chemical composition of the substance sample from the case that Ryan was now programming in. "It's incredibly unlikely to find pure cocaine being traded around Miami. If you're lucky it'll only be mixed with an inert cutting agent like Mannitol or Lactose, if you're not so lucky you'll get a batch that's been mixed with rat poison; it all depends on how desperate the dealer is to make a quick buck...and whether they need the repeat custom. Every batch is different, a cook might use the same kind of cutting agents every time he bulks out his stash, but he'll never be able to perfectly replicate a mix, not when you're examining it under a microscope anyway."

"And the cocaine you recovered from our hit-man?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary where the cut is concerned, nothing really malicious. But when I ran it through the database it came up with a sample from the same batch."

"There's already a sample in the system?" Now Horatio was intrigued.

"Yep."

"What case?"

Ryan typed another command and a second chemical signature appeared on the screen. Ryan dragged the newly recalled composition pattern until it lay over the top of the first signature. It was clear that each of the peaks and troughs of the blueprint perfectly matched. Finally the computer identified the match and flashed a green box in the centre of the screen which read 'match confirmed' before the notification faded and was replaced by the details of the cases in which the two samples of drugs were collected into evidence.

"The Robert Genero case. The drug stash that we recovered from the American Airlines Arena is a perfect match to the baggies we took off Lorenzo Castonato."

"And suddenly it's all becoming clear. Thank-you Mr Wolfe." Horatio strode out of the lab, instantly reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. "Cal? I need you to go back and take another look at the report's notebook. Oh and Cal, how are your accounting skills?"

--

Salvatore Attrasco was nothing more than a yob in gentleman's clothing. His white suit was of the highest quality; the material impeccably sourced and the manufacturing without a single fault. But somehow the bulk of his bulging, gym-enhanced biceps threw out the clean lines of the garment and told the world that this guy was only acting at being classy, that he was more comfortable dealing drugs in Hialeah than sipping champagne and living the high life in Coconut Grove. But right now his posture, lounging back in the metal chair with his feet on the table in front of him, said more about his lack of class than even his evident discomfort at wearing a sharp suit could conjure.

He lazily looked round as the glass door to the interview room opened and Eric walked in. He raised an eyebrow when he caught sight of Attrasco's shoes on the table. Allowing the manila folder he had carried into the room to drop to the surface of the table with a quiet thud, he then settled himself into a chair opposite his suspect.

"Let me ask you a little question Mr Attrasco; did your mother ever tell you not to put your feet on the table?"

"Nah, I guess she forgot to mention that," he replied with a smirk.

"Ok, let me rephrase that; get your feet off the damn table."

Attrasco's horrible smirk strengthened, but he let his feet fall to the floor with a thump, although his posture remained relaxed and he didn't sit up in the chair. It was, Eric presumed, a way of telling the CSI that he wasn't worried and that he'd be walking out of here in less than an hour.

"Ok, so let's get this party started pal, why'd you have me dragged in here?"

"We have reason to believe that you may have been involved in the recent shooting of a police officer, it's standard practice to interview any interested parties."

"Yeah? Hey, I heard about some cop getting shot recently; Lieutenant Caine, right? I heard his girl got involved too; both dead from what I hear. I was real sorry to hear about that." He snorted a laugh at his own false sentiment.

"Well that's very touching, but are you sure about that, Sal?" Horatio had stepped forward from the alcove by the window where he had been standing, out of Salvatore's sight. He turned to face the suspect and dipped his head as he removed his shades.

Horatio's sudden appearance cut Attrasco's laugh short and he jumped up from his chair in surprise.

"Sit down Sal."

"No way man, you're dead, I heard the reports on the radios after my boy…"

Horatio raised his eyebrows, he was pretty sure that Attrasco was about to say 'after my boy shot you', a statement that could be submitted as corroborating evidence in a court of law, but Attrasco caught Horatio's expectant expression just in time and stopped his mouth running away with him just in time.

"You think I look dead, Eric?"

He looked him up and down before answering. "I reckon you're lookin' pretty good for a corpse H." Eric almost managed to keep a straight face, only the laughter in his eyes and the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

"So, apparently you weren't expecting to see me again." Horatio came to lean against the interview table.

"Only in an open casket, Caine."

"Sorry to disappoint you. Tell me about _Las Hormigas Bravas_, Sal."

"How'd you…?" The mention of _Las Hormigas_ had evidently rattled Attrasco and thrown his cocksure attitude somewhat, it took a few seconds for him to regain his composure. "What the hell you talking about Caine?"

"_Las Hormigas Bravas_, Salvatore, I think you know what I'm talking about."

"Fire ants? What, you got an infestation problem?"

Horatio smirked. "I don't know Sal, how about you tell me if it's a problem I need to deal with." Horatio paused, pushed himself away from the table and walked to the window where he spent a few seconds apparently admiring the view. Of course the Lieutenant wasn't merely taking a few moments to appreciate the verdant green landscaping that surrounded the MDPD building, he was giving his interviewee a few moments to think about what had been said up to this point.

In some cases it was useful to keep a suspect talking endlessly, to let them tie themselves up in knots of lies and false alibis, answering questions in a quick back and forth, depriving them of the chance to think properly about what they were saying. But in other cases it was just as useful to intersperse the interview with several silences. You found that some interviewees hated the silences so much that they talked about anything just to fill the quiet moments, a course of action that usually led to them revealing more than they had intended and giving themselves away. In other cases you needed to let the suspect think and decide what the best course of action would be to get them out of this place quicker. Most criminals, especially those as successful as Salvatore Attrasco, were survivors, they knew what they needed to do and they'd do it if it meant pulling themselves out of the shit, even if it meant putting someone else in their place instead.

The way you conducted an interview was less about the training that you went through at the academy, there was no hard and fast formula to a successful interview technique, it was all about being able to read people, and no-one was better at reading people than Horatio Caine.

Finally Horatio turned and broke the silence. "I tell you what, why don't you lift your shirt up Sal? See if the problem's as widespread as I figure it is."

Sal squinted as Horatio stood in virtual silhouette against the window, through which the Miami sun was blazing. "I don't think so Caine, not without a warrant."

"I don't need a warrant to search your person, you were convicted of an assault a few months back, you're still on a suspended sentence, right?"

"Yeah," Attrasco mumbled his reply.

"Then that's all the warrant I need, now lift up your shirt." This time Attrasco complied with Horatio's request. He knew what the Lieutenant was looking for so he only bothered to lift the shirt on the right hand side of his body. The absence of the shirt, coupled with the low slung white trousers revealed the beginning of a line of fire ant tattoos.

"Well, there you go. So you still gonna play dumb Sal or are you gonna help yourself in this?"

"Depends what you want to know."

"Well, I know that those tattoos place you as a member of Miami's current elite criminal gang and with your background and contacts I like you for being the guy in charge of _Las Hormigas_, or if not in charge then certainly one of the generals."

"I ain't sayin nothing to you. I don't know what you're talking about man." Attrasco let his shirt drop back and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Ok, fine, you don't really need to tell me anything, the evidence will always do the talking for you. But let me run something past you. I think someone got in touch with you about a hit, it was a big job, involved a cop, a cop that's made life tricky for a few friends of his in the city, am I close?"

"Listen Caine, bear in mind that this is all purely hypothetical, I'm a law abiding guy…" he was interrupted for a moment by a spluttered laugh from Delko. Salvatore shot him a cold look before continuing. "…but if, get that, _if_ I were to be the guy who called some of the shots for this group, no pun intended, then I know for sure that there's no way I'd get involved in a cop killing for anything as paltry as twenty-thousand bucks. The blow-back from something like that just ain't worth the hastle."

"Someone offered you twenty grand for a hit but you turned it down? Who offered you the cash Sal?"

"This is all hypothetical remember? I don't know who'd do something like that."

"Ok, so you don't want to reveal who wanted to take the contract out, that's fine, I'll work that out without your help, the evidence…"

"…Yeah, yeah, the evidence will tell you what you need, right? Just get on with it Caine."

"What I do want to know though is how, if you turned the contract down, did one of your boys end up doing the shooting? We checked him, he was a _Hormigas_ boy; a gold card carrying gang member from the number of tattoos scrawled across his chest."

"Who knows what drives guys to do things like that? Perhaps he just went a little crazy." Sal shrugged before leaning forward, his next words almost whispered. "But, and again this is all hypothetical, I will say that it's a good job you killed him in that shoot-out Caine, because I've heard that if anyone goes off and does a little freelance without getting the permission from the boss first then the boy's gonna be looking at enduring a whole lot of pain."

"So the hit went down without your permission. Someone came to you to take out a hit, you turned it down and one of your boys went and accepted it on a freelance basis."

Horatio glanced around and caught sight of Calleigh hovering outside the interview room. She caught his eye and beckoned him to come out.

"Well, Mr Attrasco, it's been a pleasure, the information you've given us is most greatly appreciated." Horatio grinned.

"You're letting me go?"

"Well, you were never under any real obligation to be here in the first place, Sal. This was just a friendly chat." Horatio was fairly certain that he heard Atrasco mutter the word _'bastard'_ under his breath as he swept out of the interview room.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23 – Follow the Money**

"Is that Salvatore Attrasco?" Calleigh asked, her deep Southern drawl cutting through the background noise of the department as Horatio stepped out of the interview room and came to stand next to her.

"Yep. One and the same."

"And how does he fit into this case?"

"Actually it's thanks to a tip off from Mr Berkeley that we pulled Salvatore in for a quick chat. He suggested that he might have some information that we'd find useful if our shooter was a Fire Ant."

"Jake?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"He's risking a lot to get us this information Horatio."

"I know, but he's a good cop and he knows how to look after himself."

"I hope you're right Horatio."

Horatio saw the worry in her eyes. Jake was a lucky guy, it was unfortunate that he was too preoccupied to see it. "You ever known me to be wrong? Jake's a good cop, he'll be fine Cal."

She shrugged noncommittally and Horatio took that as the best he was going to get.

"So, I presume the reason that you're here means that you've had some joy in what you've been looking into."

"Yep. I got a lead." The smile was back as Calleigh pushed her personal worries to the back of her mind and concentrated on the case again. "We now know that there's a direct link between the drug gang from the arena and Lorenzo, our trigger happy Fire Ant. I checked over the financial records of everyone mentioned in Keisha's notes like you wanted me to and I've dug up a large sum of money transferred out to an unnamed account just two days before the attack on you and Grace."

"Well, we know that they're into the narcotics scene, it could just be a coincidence, perhaps they're buying a new stash." Horatio was pretty sure that that wasn't the case, but he liked to push each member of his team and to do that he needed to play the devil's advocate every now and then. He wanted his team to have faith in the evidence that they'd uncovered, and for that they needed to be able to argue their case with complete conviction, to think of the questions that a defence attorney might come up with and find an answer to back up their theories even before the question was asked.

"It's possible that it could be a drug buy, I'm not disputing that, but the timing, the amount, which for these guys isn't huge when you're talking cocaine, and my gut's saying it's more than just another buy."

"This substantial sum, twenty-thousand dollars is it?" Horatio smirked a little as he saw Calleigh's mouth fall open.

"Horatio, sometimes you amaze me, how in the heck do you know that?"

"Oh I have my sources." He nodded in the direction of Salvatore Attrasco, who was just being led out of the interview room by a uniformed officer. Sal there tells me that twenty-thousand's the sum that was on the table for the hit. I don't know whether to be flattered or offended at the amount." He smirked.

Calleigh couldn't help but smile too, trust Horatio to find the fun in a payment that was meant to buy his own death. "How'd Attrasco know about the hit?"

"Seems that the contract was offered to _Las_ _Hormigas_ first, they turned it down. Apparently they thought I'd be just too much hassle even when I'm dead." He shrugged.

Calleigh rolled her eyes. "So Lorenzo went behind the Fire Ants' backs and took up the contract as a freelance gig?"

"Yeah. It seems that Sal wasn't very impressed by that."

"I'm not surprised, guess he needs to keep a tighter leash on his boys. Well, the amount of cash matches up, I'd say that this is the payment we're after."

Horatio altered his stance which gave him just a second or two to think through what Calleigh had said up until that point. "You said the sum was paid into an unnamed account, you know that if we can't pin a name to that account then the information's useless to us in getting a conviction? Can the financial team trace the account's owner?"

"Funny you should ask that." Now it was Calleigh's turn to smirk. "It took some serious digging and we had to cajole a bank representative or two, but yeah, they got a name for the account's owner."

"Who? Please give me some good news."

"Does the name Lorenzo Castonato ring a bell?"

"Oh you better believe it does. So that proves it, this was the payment for the hit."

"Certainly looks that way."

"So if the payment went to Lorenzo, who did it come from?"

"You're going to need to follow me through the process." Calleigh flipped open the manila folder that she had been holding as they spoke. "I followed your directions and went back to Keisha O'Neill's reporter's notebook, she'd managed to get the names of everyone involved in the gang that dosed Enturba." Calleigh showed Horatio a photocopied page from the notebook they'd collected from the 'Miami Sentry' offices so long ago now that it seemed a lifetime away. There were names highlighted throughout the text, evidently the pool of suspects whose finances Calleigh had been investigating. "We went into the records of everyone on the list for the past couple of months checking for any large sums that stood out as irregular."

"You find anything?"

"We found a few payments that seemed a little odd and they were traced through the system, consider my eyes well and truly opened, some of these guys are into some very kinky stuff." Calleigh arched one eyebrow and smirked.

Horatio stifled a chuckle. "You said one of the accounts paid out to Lorenzo's unnamed account, so who paid out?"

"The payment came from the account of Antony Genero."

"Genero? Any relation to Robert, the guy who shot the reporter?"

She smiled grimly. "Actually there's a close family connection; he's Robert's brother."

"So I put a bullet in Robert _and_ stopped the family drug business. You think he was more annoyed about me shooting his brother or that he'd lost his business partner?"

Calleigh shrugged. "A little from column A, a little from column B. Perhaps we should ask him."

"I think you're right, I think it's time to get Mr Genero in for a little chat, don't you?"

"I'm way ahead of you for once, H. I've got a uniform detail already dispatched to bring him in for questioning."

"Nice work Calleigh."

--

Anthony Genero sat slouched in the chair that only an hour or so earlier Salvatore Attrasco had vacated. But whereas there was never any question that Attrasco was a hard-as-nails character, Genero looked like a petulant teenager in comparison. Horatio estimated he was in his early thirties, a mop of jet black hair slicked back across his scalp with gel, his skin tanned a deep brown from afternoons spent at the beach.

As Horatio and Calleigh entered the interview room, their suspect looked up quickly and Horatio noted with pleasure that he registered a look of surprised to see the red haired lieutenant before he once again lowered his head to stare meekly at the floor.

Calleigh settled herself in a chair across the table from Anthony Genero whilst Horatio stood at the window, in much the same position he had adopted when questioning Salvatore earlier that afternoon. The room remained silent, neither of the CSIs speaking, they simply watched their subject, who was getting visibly more nervous as the seconds ticked by.

The hatred that the guy was radiating was palpable, but he didn't have the persona of Attrasco, didn't have the confidence to look the officers in the eye and lie to them. Sal had had a lifetime to get used to dealing with law enforcement, Tony on the other hand was just starting out, and if Horatio had any say in it, he wasn't going to get a chance to get used to it before taking an enforced retirement.

The silence continued, and again Horatio was struck by the complete contrast from their last interviewee; Sal had relished the chance to initiate the verbal sparring, but Tony seemed determined not to be the one to make the opening gambit, unaware that the longer it went on for the worse it got for him as his nerves rapidly grew. Eventually, whether it was through pity or exasperation, Horatio started the ball rolling. "So Tony, little birdy tells me you've got yourself mixed up in some none too pleasant business."

"Don't know what you mean man."

"Well, let me enlighten you." Calleigh chimed in now and started to lift fingers on her right hand as she counted off the charges that were mounting up against the subject in front of her. "First there's getting involved in a narcotics ring, that's a possession and supply rap, then there's your involvement in throwing the spread for the Miami Heat team by dosing their star player, after that we've got you for a felony murder deal in the death of Keisha O'Neill, you've got your brother to thank for that one." She paused, letting all of that sink in before she continued. "All of that's already signed and sealed and you're going to be charged with that little list as soon as we're finished here, we've got a prosecutor who's just itching to talk to you. But right now we're gonna talk about a little freelance job you contracted following the death of your brother."

"You mean his _murder_."

"Actually no, Mr Genero," Calleigh continued smoothly. "Murder indicates a premeditated intention to kill, death as a result of self-defence does not carry the same title. So, you wanna tell us about that?"

"Nah, I wasn't involved, whoever's telling you that shit they're lyin man."

Horatio stepped forward, a glint in his eye. "So you're going to deny any and all involvement?"

"Yeah, damn straight."

"Good. I like to know where we stand from the outset. So, Tony, you know a guy called Lorenzo Castonato?"

"No, never heard of the dude."

"Really? Well, you paid him a substantial amount of money not so long ago, a substantial amount of money that secured his services as a gun for hire. And call me naïve, but I don't tend to pay five-figure sums of money to people I don't know. So either you're stupid or you're lying. Which is it?"

"Hey, you need a warrant to go snooping around in my bank records." There was a look of triumph that appeared on his face as he finally looked up from the floor. "And if you got no warrant then you got no proof, so I'm walking." He started to push himself out of the chair, but Horatio stood directly in front of him, halting his progress.

"Stick around Mr Genero, it's just getting interesting."

Calleigh pushed a wad of papers, stapled together in one corner across the table. "One warrant, signed by a judge. We've already managed to prove that you were involved in drugs and murder, believe me it wasn't hard to get a judge to sign off on a warrant for your bank records. Oh, and if it was my call, I'd say you were _both_; lying and stupid."

Horatio had to turn away for a beat to hide the smile that erupted on his face following Calleigh's comment. When he turned back, however, he was the image of professionalism. "We traced a payment made from your account to an account owned by Lorenzo Castonato; a man who was killed during the attempted murder of a civilian and a police officer, just to clarify for the record, that police officer was me. We have a source who was present when the contract was first offered to Las Hormigas Bravas and can identify you in a line-up." That was stretching the truth a little, true Salvatore could identify Robert in a line-up, but he wouldn't, he wouldn't want to be branded a snitch. But Genero didn't need to know that bit of information. "When they turned it down we know that Lorenzo took the hit on as a freelance job. Shall I continue?"

"That son of a bitch." Genero muttered. "He said the account couldn't be traced back to him."

"Well he was wrong. It can and it has been traced." Calleigh interjected sweetly.

"So are we to assume that with that admission you are admitting to taking out the contract to kill Grace Turner?"

"Who the fuck's she?"

"This is Grace Turner." Calleigh once again opened the file she had bought into the room and extracted a photograph encased in the plastic of an evidence bag. It was the photograph that they had retrieved from Lorenzo's pocket. "The woman that you had shot in the parking lot. It's rather remiss of you not to find out your intended victims' names Mr Genero."

"Huh." He was silent for a moment, running the evidence that he had been presented with through his mind, trying to work out if there was any way of squirming his way out of this charge, finding none, he finally relaxed a little and turned to face Horatio, his expression as dark as thunder. "How about I cut you a deal Caine? I tell you what you want to know, I make a confession for the hit and roll over on the coke charges."

Horatio navigated the table and came to stand by Calleigh's shoulder. "And what do you get in return?"

"I get to ask the great Lieutenant Caine a question."

Genero had a sly sneer on his face that Horatio really didn't like the look of, but there was no way he could pass up the chance to have his suspect hand him a signed confession. "Fine, fire away, ask your question."

"How'd it feel to watch someone you love get shot right in front of you? Did it just tear you apart inside?" That malignant expression was still there, taunting him, goading him into some sort of reaction.

Horatio saw Calleigh shift in her seat, uncomfortable at what Genero was putting her boss and friend through.

"Was that the idea, to get to me through her?" His voice remained calm despite the pain that he could feel welling up in his chest.

"That's not a proper answer Caine, you're being evasive." Genero had the audacity to laugh. "Tell me, did a part of your soul crumble when you thought she was going to die. When you knew there was nothing you could possibly do to save her?"

Calleigh twisted around and whispered to her boss who leaned down to allow her to talk to him. "You don't have to answer his questions you know, we've got enough evidence to put him away, we don't need his confession."

"It's ok Cal." Horatio turned to Genero and answered, "Yes it did." There was a momentary look of victory on Genero's face as Horatio made his admission, a look that soon turned to a scowl as Horatio continued. "But if you think it's the first time I've seen someone I love die in front of me while I could feel their blood on my hands then you haven't done your homework very well. It has happened before and I've survived, because when things like that happen I know that the only remedy to the pain is to get scum like you off the streets. Going after the people close to me just makes your whole situation worse in the long run."

Genero was getting visibly more angry by the moment. His question had back-fired, and he had been left with no satisfaction. "You killed my little brother, Caine! My flesh and blood. My parents have disowned me, they blame me for getting him mixed up in this whole thing in the first place."

Horatio would have liked nothing better than to have beaten their suspect to a pulp right there but there were better ways of making him hurt than breaking his nose.

"You said if I answered your question you'd roll, well, I answered your question so roll kid. I'll ask you again, was that the plan; to get at me through her?"

"Actually it was more than that." There was that sneer again, braking through the rage. "The idea was to have you watch her die and then kill you, knowing that the last thing you'd see was her dead body, knowing that the last thing you'd feel was her blood on your hands and knowing that the last thing you'd think was that it was _all your fault_. But you managed to mess up my best laid plans. Who the hell takes their gun to the beach?"

"As it turns out, I do, and my fiancé too apparently." Actually, Horatio hadn't thought about it before that moment, but he and Grace really were similar creatures. "You talk about your best laid plans being messed up but it's all just a case of bad research." Horatio leaned forward now, resting his knuckles on the table so that he could whisper his next words to Genero. "I didn't mess them up, you did that all by yourself."

Horatio stood back and crossed his arms across his chest, pleased to see the pure hatred that flashed across Anthony Genero's face in that instant. "Turns out you were right Cal, he was both lying and stupid. You ok finishing up in here? I've got something I need to arrange."

"Sure no problem H, will you send the prosecutor in? Mr Genero here needs to come good on his deal and write out a full confession."

"No problem. Mr Genero, I'd like to say it's been a pleasure but it hasn't. I'll see you in court."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 – For Better or Worse

**Chapter 24 – For Better or Worse**

_Two days later._

The hospital's sliding doors hissed as they slid open and Grace walked through them into the bright sunlight. She'd almost forgotten how hot Miami was, she'd spent the past few weeks stuck in the air conditioned surroundings of the hospital where there was no warm and cold, just a constant temperature preordained to be the optimal warmth for recovery. She shrugged her shoulders, letting the weight of her bag settle evenly.

"Let me carry that for you Ma'am?"

She turned around and found him standing up from where he had been sitting on a bench beside the main doors. Even the sight of him made her want to cry, why did he have to come now, just when she needed to be strong?

"Horatio. I didn't expect to see you." Grace allowed her eyes to sink to the floor, refusing to meet the piercing gaze of his crystal blue eyes.

"Well, I'm spontaneous like that." He took her hand as he came to stand next to her, stroking the soft skin of the back of her hand with his thumb and raised his hand to take the bag from her shoulder.

His touch to her hand sent a further wave of warmth over her skin, pushing a pulse up her arm like an electrical current. Grace pulled her hand away from his grasp and stepped back putting some distance between them, still keeping her eyes firmly locked on the floor, refusing to let him take her bag.

"Horatio I'm tired and I want to go home. If you have something to say, just say it. Otherwise you're just being cruel." She sighed.

"I have something I need to say. Can we sit down somewhere?"

"I have a cab booked. Will it take long?" She imagined that he needed to ask her a few follow-up questions about the shooting, Detective Tripp had already visited her to take a statement regarding what she remembered. She was surprised that Horatio was actually being allowed to be involved in this case; the same shooter had, after all, put him in the intensive care unit alongside her. She thought he would have been forced to recuse himself from the investigation.

'_Will it take long?_' Horatio thought about her question. _Hopefully a lifetime_, he thought, the message ran through his brain before he had chance to stop it and a twinge of sadness tugged at his heart as he contemplated the possibility that what he was planning to do didn't work out the way he hoped.

"Cancel the cab. I'll take you home."

"Horatio, I don't think that's a good idea." Grace shook her head.

"Please, Grace." There was something in his voice that made her look up and when she met his eyes she cursed silently at herself for giving in. He had that puppy-dog expression that just made her heart melt every time she saw it.

"Fine," _damn, how did he manage to do that?_ _How did he always manage to break through her adamant defences and make her crumble?_ "But not here. I've had enough of hospitals to last me a lifetime. I want to sit out in the sun for a while."

"Sure. How about we go downtown for a while?"

Grace nodded in agreement, thinking he meant down to the MDPD building.

"Good. So, are you going to let me carry the bag?" He chuckled quietly and saw her smile briefly at his persistence.

The drive was quiet, neither really knowing what to say. The radio, tuned to a local station that played a good mix of popular music and oldies, babbled quietly and indecipherably to itself. Grace leaned over and turned the volume knob, bringing the volume up to an audible level to cover the awkward silence that was edged with a little frostiness on Grace's part. She had phoned and cancelled the cab she had booked, not wanting the driver to miss a fare because he was sitting outside the hospital waiting for a discharged patient that would never appear. Grace had been surprised when Horatio had pulled the Hummer into a parking lot nowhere near the MDPD building and found herself being guided along a path that ran beside the water. After a few minutes Grace's memory kicked in and told her where they were headed. Biscayne Courthouse stood out from a complex of local government buildings, the reflective surface of the glass gave a mirror image of the turquoise waters that lay a few metres away and showered the paved area in front of it with the reflected light and heat of the sun's rays.

The well maintained vegetation dotted here and there amongst the channels of water that snaked their way through the paved space gave the whole locale a lush and welcoming atmosphere, a feeling that she was certain was not shared by the accused men and women that entered the courthouse to stand trial for their crimes against the people of Florida.

Grace knew that while Horatio perhaps hadn't consciously headed to this spot, something in his brain had pushed him into a kind of autopilot, bringing him to a place that he associated with some degree of tranquillity. Whether it was because this was the place connected with happy memories of the moments he had shared with Marisol, or whether it was simply because this was the seat of justice within the boundaries of Miami she didn't know. Whatever it was he had bought her here to talk through something that was clearly troubling him on a personal level rather than the case.

They were standing in the middle of the space when Grace saw the distant look fall away from Horatio's face and he regained full awareness of his surroundings. She was not surprised to find a look of astonishment creeping over his visage and a little confusion as he tried to play back the previous ten minutes in his brain to work out exactly how he had got there. Then he apparently seemed to remember that she was supposed to be with him and he turned, desperately searching her out amongst the faces of the few people that wandered between them. His expression spoke of insurmountable relief when he found her still near him.

"Gracie…I…" He paused, trying to sort out the jumble of words that had flown into his head all at once. "Gracie, I'm sorry for everything I've put you through."

She sighed, a little exasperated. "Horatio, we've been through this. You didn't force me into anything, I went willingly and with a full and cogent understanding of the risks involved."

"I don't just mean everything up until the shooting, I mean everything since then as well. You have to know that I love you more than anything else in the world. You have to believe that Gracie."

She was getting annoyed now, she had never expected Horatio to do this, to try and rationalise his actions to provide himself with some way of lessening the guilt. "No. How can I believe that Horatio? You say you love me, but you won't let me love you back, you just push me away. That's not normal behaviour for someone in love." Her eyes narrowed in frustration and she fell silent for a second before continuing. "You know, sometimes you can be incredibly infuriating."

"So I'm told." A light smile came to his face as he answered her, thinking back to the moment when his ballistics expert had told him the same thing. "Grace, forgive me?"

"Is this the part where you say that even though we can't be together we can still be friends?" She rolled her eyes surprised at the venom she felt towards him at this moment.

"No, I don't want us to be friends."

"What?" She stared at him with mouth open, the shock resonating through her body. "Do you somehow think that you haven't made me suffer enough already? Is this little talk," she made little inverted comma gestures with her fingers as she said the word 'talk', "just a way of hurting me that little bit more. You know I never figured you for such a selfish…"

"Woah." Horatio cut her tirade short and cursed himself for his stupid way of phrasing things. "What I mean is, I don't want us to be _just_ friends." He corrected himself quickly. "The last few days have been indescribably lonely. It's like someone took away a part of who I am and left pain in its place. I…I realise that I was underestimating you when I said you didn't know what trouble you were facing. I felt so useless because I thought I'd failed to protect you that I forgot that you've been protecting yourself all your life. Forgive me Grace. Please. Give me a second chance?"

He was fiddling with the arms of his sunglasses, twirling them in his hands in that typical nervous reaction that she'd come to know over the past year. For a moment or two she didn't answer, remaining silent. Eventually her silence forced him to look up at her and as she looked deep into his eyes she saw the truth of his words shining out like a beacon. That was the thing about Horatio, no matter what he said you could tell the truth just by looking into his eyes. She had figured out long ago that this was the reason that Horatio always had his sunglasses with him, as a way of hiding that truth. All the pain, all the venom she had felt in the past few minutes, heck everything that she'd felt over the past few days; every single negative thought was gone in that instant. But was she ready to risk having her heart broken again? Grace turned and walked a few steps away, giving her a chance to think.

Finally she turned back and whispered. "In a heartbeat."

Joy; pure, undiluted joy washed over him as she smiled. "Thank-you," he whispered.

"I've just got one question for you."

"Shoot."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Uh…sorry, bad choice of words…go ahead and ask."

"What made you change your mind…about us?"

"Oh, someone slapped me around the head and made me see sense."

She studied him closely, seeing the blush start at his neck and move up to his face. "Let me guess, Calleigh, right?"

"Yep." They both laughed.

He stepped forward suddenly, gathering her into his arms and he kissed her.

"Marry me."

"Now that's something I'll have to think about I'm afraid." Her face was stern, but soon broke into a smile when she saw the worried look on Horatio's face. "I'm just teasing, of course I'll still marry you. I love you Horatio Caine, I have always loved you and I will always love you. I can't help myself."

"That is very good to hear." He let out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding in a sigh of relief, his amazement at the woman in his arms never diminished and the fact that she could forgive so easily was a revelation that made his heart soar. Keeping one hand firmly holding hers he pushed the other hand into the pocket inside his jacket and withdrew the engagement ring that had been kept there ever since she had sent it back to him via the courier. Softly he found her left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger, back where it belonged.

She flexed her fingers, appreciating the feeling of the gentle weight of the ring on her finger. "C'mon Romeo, let's go home." Her face broke into a wide grin as she started to move away but Horatio hung back, holding on to her wrist, impeding her progress. "Horatio? What's wrong?"

"When I said marry me, I meant marry me now." He smiled an impish grin.

"Wha…what?"

"I meant marry me now, today, right here."

"Horatio, be serious, I'm wearing jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, I have no make-up on and I look like death that's been stuck in a microwave and not quite warmed up enough, defrosted maybe, but not warmed up. Now heaven knows I'm not the vainest person in the world, but I always envisioned entering wedded bliss in a slightly more dignified manner."

"Gracie, I would marry you if you sprouted two extra heads and tentacles. But I had a feeling you might say something like that," he leant down and whispered in her ear, "so that's where they come in." He pointed behind her and she turned to find Calleigh, Alexx and Natalia standing a few metres behind her. They waved a little nervously until they saw the look of shock on Grace's face soften and morph into a wide smile. And suddenly she realised that the courthouse hadn't been such an unplanned destination after all.

Calleigh stepped forward. "We were allowed to take Horatio's credit card for a day-trip to the shops." She held the credit card between her forefinger and thumb and waggled it in the air.

"Yes, and I think I'd better be taking it back, before you do any more damage to my bank account." Horatio chuckled as he took the card from her.

"We figured you were about the same size as Natalia so we picked you out a few things to wear."

Grace turned her head towards Horatio. "You scared I might change my mind or something Horatio?"

"A little," he admitted with an embarrassed smile. "So what about it? Will you marry me, today?" Horatio stepped up behind her, taking her hand in his and turning her to face him fully once more.

"Do you even need to ask?"

"Just to clarify."

"Yes. Of course I will." She turned, tilting her head up to kiss him, but Alexx intervened.

"Oh no you don't, you two are breaking about a hundred different traditions just by looking at each other before you get hitched."

"Well Alexx, seeing as how we've broken so many traditions already I don't see how one more is going to make any difference." He leaned his head down and placed a soft kiss on Grace's lips. "Besides, ours hasn't exactly been your typical, run of the mill courtship has it?"

"Huh. Well that's enough of that. C'mon sugar, we've gotta get you ready." Alexx huffed before dragging Grace out of Horatio's grip with a firm hand that overrode even Grace's strong desire to stay and further explore Horatio's lips.


	25. Chapter 25

Epilogue

**Chapter 25 – I'll Protect You From The World**

Grace's mouth opened wide in amazement as they walked into the room. There was stuff spread everywhere, make-up laid out in rows, hairbrushes, curlers and pins sat beyond the various eyeshadows and lipsticks and hanging from a hook to one side of the room was possibly the most beautiful wedding dress Grace had ever seen. Her eyes started to well up with tears.

"You did all this for me?" She asked, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Actually Horatio organised pretty much everything. Apart from getting the DA to let us use her office as a changing room. That was my addition to the day." Calleigh grinned at a private joke.

"Yes, I've been meaning to ask about that. Exactly how did you persuade her to let us use this room?" Natalia asked.

"Oh that was easy. I persuaded her to wager the use of her room for the day on a poker game. Needless to say I won." She grinned again.

"A little free advice for ya sweetheart, never play poker against Calleigh." Alexx whispered to Grace theatrically behind her hand. "You'll lose, plain and simple. In fact there's only one person to my knowledge that's ever managed to out-bluff her and win the pot." Alexx smirked as Calleigh crossed her arms and huffed in annoyance at the thought.

"Who?" Grace asked, curiously.

"Your fiancé."

--

As Grace opened the door and allowed the trio to re-enter the room, all three caught their breath. Grace had pulled on the sleek, silky dress that they'd presented her with, the result of their day spent in some of Miami's bridal shops. It fitted her perfectly and even with no make-up on each of the women found it impossible to deny that she looked radiant.

Under the pretext of rearranging the neckline of the dress, Grace pulled Calleigh to one side.

"Are you ok? It's not pulling your stitches or anything is it?" Calleigh asked nervously glancing down at the dress.

"Cal, relax, it's fine and gorgeous I might add. I just wanted to say thank-you."

"Oh well, Natalia and Alexx were more influential in choosing the dress and Horatio paid for it, I just kinda went along for the ride." She grinned.

"No, not just for the dress, I wanted to say thank-you for everything else you've done."

"Sorry, you've lost me."

"Calleigh, I know full well that you're the reason I'm standing here today. Horatio trusts you with his life, he values your opinions and follows your advice. I know that I can never really thank-you enough."

"No, it's not because of me, it's because of him." Calleigh shook her head, a grin on her face. "He knew what he needed to do all along, he's just a bit stubborn and naïve sometimes and all he needed was a prod in the right direction…"

"Or a smack around the head?"

"He told you about that?" Calleigh blushed a little. "A smack around the head often does the trick too, yes. All he needed was to be able to take a step back and see what he was about to throw away over some misaligned sense of nobility. When it comes to being happy Horatio has this twisted notion that he doesn't deserve it and nothing could be further from the truth." She smiled. "But hey, if you ever need someone to give him a good smack around the head again, I'd be happy to oblige."

"Deal."

The pair laughed loudly, bringing Alexx and Natalia's attention to them.

"What's so funny over there?"

"Nothing." Calleigh chimed sweetly. "Oh I nearly forgot." She tilted her head down and lifted her hands to fumble with the delicate clasp on the chain of her own necklace, removing it from her neck. "Here, wear this. It'll count as your something borrowed, plus it's sapphire so it'll cover the something blue requirement as well."

"What do you mean?"

"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. The four things that a bride has to have with her on her wedding day." Alexx butted in. "It's traditional."

"Oh right."

"Well the dress is new." Natalia said as she swept her fingers down the skirt of Grace's silky dress, smoothing it out.

"And you've already got the something old covered." Added Alexx with a grin.

"Why? What's the something old?"

Alexx, Natalia and Calleigh all glanced at each other, their smiles gradually growing.

"Horatio." They chimed in unison, chuckling.

Grace said nothing as she joined them in their laughter.

--

The next time Horatio saw her, his breath caught in his throat and he swore he was going to die right then and there. The girls had done themselves proud with their choice of dress – a simple bustier hugged her figure and a sheet of pure white silk flowed down over her hips and to the floor, honey blonde hair flowed in loose waves over her shoulders. Her make-up was subtle, not needing much to accentuate the radiance of her natural beauty, although the thin film of foundation had managed to replace the still slightly grey pallor that her extended stay in hospital had left her with. Just the very top of her wound was visible over her bustier, where the damage had bruised the surrounding tissue a dull blue colour.

"You look good." She whispered as she came to stand beside him, taking a moment to look him up and down. At some point since she had vanished into the courthouse for her makeover he had changed into a smart suit that, if at all possible, made him look more handsome than usual.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." He replied. "Actually 'good' doesn't even come close. You look…stunning." His words bought a sudden flush to her face. "Are you feeling ok? Your stitches…" He let the question hang in the air.

"I hadn't even thought about it. Apparently I've found the best pain killer in the world."

He chuckled in response, glad that she wasn't in any discomfort. "The girls did good on the shopping." He nodded down at the dress.

"Uh-huh. You like it?"

"Yes. I didn't think there was anything that could make you look more beautiful."

"You know, they even bought me some wedding night lingerie to complete the outfit." Grace leaned over and whispered in his ear, smiling wickedly, seeing Horatio swallow and close his eyes momentarily as a stream of lustful thoughts suddenly assaulted his mind.

Now it was Horatio's turn to blush. He turned a little and threw a glance over to where Alexx, Natalia and Calleigh stood, now accompanied by Ryan, Eric and Frank Tripp who were all sporting particularly dapper suits, although it had to be said that Frank was looking rather uncomfortable in the more formal outfit. Each woman stared back innocently, although as he turned his gaze back to the woman standing beside him once more, he heard them each attempt to stifle their laughter as they guessed exactly what Grace had just revealed by the look on his face.

"All set?" He asked her in a whisper when he had finally recovered. "Last chance to back out."

"Are you _trying_ to make me back out Lieutenant Caine?"

"No." He answered instantly and adamantly. "I guess I still can't believe that someone as beautiful as you would actually consider marrying me, especially after what I've put you through."

"Well there's no way you're going to get a reprieve from me, you don't get off that easily Lieutenant. Besides I can't run off now, I doubt I could do more than waddle in this dress. And I've already got my something old, new borrowed and blue, so it'd be bad manners to back out now."

She saw him scanning her, making a mental note of the necklace and the dress and saw the look of intrigue when he failed to find the something old. Suddenly Grace regretted mentioning it, trying to come up with something quick, but as in any urgent situation her mind went blank.

"Nope, I can't see anything, you'll have to tell me. What's the something old?"

Grace stayed silent, raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at him.

"Oh." He said as he worked it out.

"Their words, not mine." She chuckled, pointing towards where the trio of Horatio's female colleagues stood some distance away still sniggering.

"Just wait until I get them back to work." He huffed indignantly.

"Well if it's any consolation I don't think you're old, just matured like a fine wine."

"That was very poetic."

"You say that as if you're surprised. I have an artist's soul."

"And a CSI's heart. Come on Tennyson." He offered her his arm and they walked towards the courthouse arm in arm.

--

As they emerged from the courthouse some time later and walked down the few steps, back into the full glare of the Miami sun, something flicked in Horatio's mind, a sense of deja-vu leapt energetically through the synapses of his brain triggering a not so pleasant memory. He scanned his eyes over the surrounding area, staring into the shadows that appeared here and there. Grace, in her close proximity to him, felt his heart begin to beat a little faster and noticed the change in his posture, as if he were no longer relaxed She realised that Horatio was suddenly on guard and instantly she knew what was wrong. The last time he had been in this position, walking his new wife out into the bright light, he knew that a Mala Noche sniper's rifle had already been trained on him and Marisol. Now he was understandably petrified that history was about to repeat itself and was scrutinizing the locale for a glint of sunlight reflecting off the glass of a gun sight.

Grace slipped an arm around his back, guiding him out, slightly away from the rest of the group of CSIs that followed them who, apparently registering the happy couple's need for a few minutes of privacy, didn't follow. When she deemed that they were far enough away she put pressure on his arm, turning him to face her, forcing him to halt his search for a concealed sniper and bring his full attention towards her, tilting her head so that he looked deep into her eyes.

"Horatio." She whispered. "You've spent your entire life looking out for others, always being someone's knight in shining armour. It's time to let someone look out for you for a change. Let me be your knight, Horatio and I'll protect you from the world."

He raised his hand to cup her cheek, tilting her head up and lowering his own so that he could kiss her, softly at first before letting the moment take them and deepening the embrace. In that moment all thoughts of snipers and assassins vanished and the only thing on his mind was her and he knew that together they'd be safe.

"How about we'll protect each other?"

"Mmm, I could live with that."

End.


End file.
